


Okay, But Have You Tried the R.I.C.E. Method?

by Bellweather



Category: South Park
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Friendships, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Character Study, Depressed Stan Marsh, Diabetic Ketoacidosis/DKA, Dubious Ethics, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gaslighting, Hurt Kyle Broflovski, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kidnapping/Running Away, Major Character Injury, Mental Disintegration, Mental Health Issues, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Other, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Warfare, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 212,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellweather/pseuds/Bellweather
Summary: Kyle gets hurt, but Stan wasn't there to protect him and that keeps him up at night. It seems as though the more Stan tries to do some good for his super best friend, the further he falls down a rabbit hole, one that just gets darker and darker the further he falls.Kenny just tries to be a good friend, but for some reason, Stan won't let him.Elitist Ike tries to do some good himself, but Stan gets in the way.As for Kyle? Well, he's not really allowed to talk--for reasons unknown.What starts off as a simple injury eventually lands Stan in having to face violence, abuse, deathly illnesses, and even the threat of kidnapping.
Relationships: Ike Broflovski & Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick & Ike Broflovski, Kyle Broflovski & Kenny McCormick, Kyle Broflovski & Stan Marsh
Comments: 91
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, there :) Thank you for deciding to read!
> 
> I just wanted to say to all of the impatient readers out there, if you want to skip to the more exciting bits, I completely understand! I know that expositions can sometimes be rough to get through, and I apologize if my first few chapters bore you :)  
> If you want to get to the first signs of mystery, maybe try chapter 5.  
> If you want to skip to the first major event in the story, skip to chapter 7.
> 
> Thank you again for reading!

There comes a sort of rare dignity in expressing masculinity through male friendship. The kind of deep bond Steinbeck captured perfectly in  _ Of Mice and Men _ depicting how, throughout thick and thin, male friendship survives against all odds. That kind of love is a difficult thing to express due to the overwhelming stigma expecting men to be unemotional, unrepenting, and unloving. Thankfully, in recent years, that sort of toxic masculinity started diminishing little by little every year. Though the expectation of men’s sternness is only a fraction of what it used to be, it still exists today.

Of course, there are those who always defy expectation.

Stan and Kyle were some of them.

The entire town was aware of their friendship, of course. Being so small, there was constant communication daily, whether it was warranted or not. Most other teenagers around town picked on them for having a friendship so open that it was “gay.” They ripped on Stan and Kyle despite the fact everyone knew they were just friends. They all knew this; it seemed as though everyone was jealous of their shameless intimacy. Stan and Kyle knew this, too, so they never let the teasing get to them; they knew it was foul play to begin with.

Considering this impenetrable friendship, one could only imagine the absolute horror Stan felt upon receiving word that there was an accident involving Kyle.

“The schoolbus did  _ what?” _ Stan exclaimed, practically shrieking in front of his high school football coach. Being the school quarterback, he was already the coach’s favorite student, as was he a huge favorite among his peers. He could tell that because of his, his coach was speaking especially gentle and he was delicately crafting his sentences.

The coach pursed his lips in thought before repeating his message for the third time, more clearly, “Stan, everyone is okay. The bus driver was under the influence when she was driving, but thankfully she was still driving less than thirty miles an hour. But she did hit some-” he stopped, and then chose a softer word, “-But the bus did  _ tap _ some students who were walking home from school yesterday. They’re okay, though.The worst injury reported was a broken arm and a concussion.”

“What street was this on? Who was hit?” Stan was riled up at this point. He was not an angry person by a long shot; Kyle was ten times the hothead Stan was. But just the thought of what the football coach was telling him stirred Stan’s agitation in ways he never thought were possible.

The coach let out a sigh, and placed a firm hand on the breadth of his star player’s shoulder, “There were two freshman students, a girl named Leslie Meyers, and your friend, Kyle.”

Stan acted on impulse; he grabbed fistfulls of his coach’s jersey and jerked him forward in intimidation, “Is he okay? What happened to him?”

Though the coach certainly acknowledged that his player was in distress, he still had a reputation to maintain when it came to the discipline of his students. Physical intimidation was not something he permitted. The couch could only bite down on the tip of his tongue to keep himself from lashing out at Stan in that second. With an aggravated huff, the coach forcefully removed Stan’s hands from his jersey and stated, “Stan Marsh. You better think before you act next time. Do you need to take a walk?”

Stan took a deep breath, and the stress slipped away a little. He was still shockingly tense, but now he was willing to act rationally.

“No, sir, I don’t need to  _ take a walk, _ ” he spat out the words almost venomously, “I need to know where Kyle is.”

“I can only assume he’s home,” the coach answered. It was currently seven in the morning; an hour before school started. Stan often showed up early to practice football, so he didn’t get the opportunity to wait with his friends at the bus stop in the morning anymore, which was in truth really sad. 

The coach went on to add, a little guiltily, “or in the hospital.”

Stan let out a long wind of breath he didn’t know he was holding. He pretended not to notice his breath was wavering when he asked, “Coach, could I be excused from practice today?”

“‘Excused from practice?’ As in, you’re not-”

“-I don’t want to practice today, coach. I want to go see if Kyle’s okay. Can I please be excused?”

“Of course you may, Stan,” the coach said, almost whispering, “Of course you may. Tell you what, I can write PC principal an excuse note for you for the whole day. How does that sound?”

Stan answered his question by giving the coach a huge, enveloping hug. The coach felt his heart melt a little bit at his star player’s gesture; it was so unlike him, so vulnerable. It worried him to think of the fear that must have been flashing through Stan’s mind as he clutched onto the coach’s back longingly.

To spare Stan the embarrassment of too much public affection, the coach patted his broad back twice to end the hug. Stan said nothing as he gathered his athletics bag, slung it over his shoulder, and made for the exit. 

The coach frowned, making his way to his office to call the principal.

“Poor kid,” he muttered.

* * *

Kyle’s mom Sheila was perhaps Stan’s favorite woman on the planet earth.

He was driving out of school when he dialed her number on the phone in an intense moment of panic. She answered immediately, without a fraction of delay. He told her he learned about the accident and then went on spewing out his worries in rambling and tangents. Halfway through the phone call, he was still the only one to talk, and by then he was probably babbling incomprehensibly. Sheila did not interrupt once. It wasn’t until Stan encountered a red light that he let himself breath. He stopped, taking in the traffic environment, as Sheila spoke for the first time.

_ “Thank you so much for your concern, sweet Stan,” _ Sheila said through the phone,  _ “Kyle’s going to be so happy to know you were thinking of him. He’s home right now if you want to come over.” _

“I would love to,” Stan answered honestly, a smile playing on his lips for the first time that day, “Is he okay?”

_ “He’s certainly lucky, if that’s what you mean. The bus hit him from behind, and he hurt his ankle falling onto the curb. But he’s in a cast right now and the doctor’s say he can return to school in a week.” _

“He should take the whole month off,” Stan muttered. The street light turned green and he pressed his foot to the gas pedal.

_ “That’s what I said, too,”  _ Sheila said. There was a hint of sadness in her voice. Stan was unfamiliar with this level of softness coming from her. Sheila has always been the toughest woman in town, sharp as a needle and strong as a bull. He got the feeling that she was hiding something, something she probably didn’t feel comfortable discussing over the phone.

He turned left at the next intersection and headed for Kyle’s house.

“I’ll be there in four minutes.”

_ “I’ll let him know you’re coming.” _

Stan was the one to hang up the phone call. He knew he shouldn’t be on his phone while he was driving, but he could take a risk for Kyle. He made the intuitive decision to drive by the local pharmacy before going to Kye’s house. Paying with the little cash he had in his pockets, he picked up a bottle of painkillers, two snacks and drinks for Kyle and himself, and he even had enough to buy a bouquet of flowers for Sheila.

By the end of his trip to the pharmacy, he was in a state of near panic on top of being pretty much broke. He had figured completing a simple task like buying things would help settle his nerves, but it seemed to do the opposite.

Kyle’s driveway was empty when Stan pulled his car into it. Their family owned only one car, and Stan knew that Kyle’s dad took it with him to work. Stan couldn’t help but wonder why Kyle’s dad didn’t stay home with him today, after an accident that could have very well been near fatal. It wasn’t his place to think negatively about Kyle’s dad, but Stan couldn’t really help it.

Carrying his plastic pharmacy bag in one hand and the bouquet in the other, Stan arrived at the front porch. He was about to raise a finger to the doorbell when the front door gave way and opened in front of him. Sheila was standing there in her pajamas with no makeup on. Calling her disheveled would be an exaggeration, but she certainly appeared to not be herself.

Stan cleared his throat, “Hi, Ms. Sheila. Thank you for letting me come over.”

“For you Stan, any time. You’re always welcome here.”

“I brought you flowers, Ms. Sheila.”

“Oh, aren’t you the kindest boy,” Sheila exclaimed in her thick New Jersey accent, “And here I was thinking you brought the flowers for Kyle! Haha! Thank you so much, Stan, really. I’ll put them in a nice vase.”

“Thank you.”

“Kyle’s in the living room.”

There she was. That was the Sheila Stan knew; getting straight to the point without dilly dally.

“Thank you,” Stan said. He took off his shoes and coat by the door, but didn’t bother removing his hat as he started sliding down the hardwood hallway in his thick, grey socks. He had been in Kyle’s house so many times he knew the landscape better than he did in his own home.

Stepping into the carpeted living room, Stan found himself locking eyes with a particularly violent action scene on the television. The volume was low, thankfully, because there were so many explosions and gunshots that Stan had trouble focusing on the screen. How could Kyle even watch this stuff?

His question was answered as he stepped further into the living room, where he could clearly see Kyle lying asleep on the green sofa, forearm slung over his eyes, and left foot in an oversized green cast. He was dressed in loose pajamas stained with water and sweat. His hair was matted and tangled; he wasn’t wearing his trademark hat.

To be honest, Kyle looked more ill than he did injured. From where Stan was standing, Kyle looked like he had the flu. Once more, Stan’s nerves were far from settled.

He cast a look back over his shoulder to see if Sheila was in the hallway. Maybe he could ask her if he should come back later. Kyle was hurt, and he probably needed some rest, andー

“-so are you just gonna stand there, or what?”

“Kyle!” Stan exclaimed, returning to find his best friend very much awake and a little less sickly. He was in the same position Stan last saw him, save for that his lean arms were now crossed impatiently across his chest, and his eyes were open and staring.

Stan would have moved to sit next to him on the couch, but he didn’t want to risk bumping Kyle’s foot, so he sat at the closest armchair where he could be face to face with him.

“I’m sorry, dude, I thought you were sleeping.”

“Nah. I’m all good. I was about to fall asleep, though. This movie’s so boring.”

Stan looked back at the screen to see a woman’s dress catch on fire while she was still wearing it, “It doesn’t look that boring to me.”

“You’d have to watch it from the beginning to get it.”

“Oh, I got it,” Stan started fidgeting with his plastic bag, “I brought some snacks.”

“Sweet,” Kyle said. He made an effort to sit up. It was evident from the expression on his face that he was struggling to move even that little.

“Hey, you don’t have to sit up,” Stan said as quickly as he could.

“Nah, I got it. Just give me a pillow,” though Kyle did have a good poker face, his body failed to mask his discomfort; just by sitting up, all the blood moved down from his face, leaving him ghastly pale. He looked like he was about to faint.

Stan fetched the largest pillow in the living room and moved to place it behind Kyle’s back. He bit his lip as he watched Kyle adjusting himself against the pillow.

“That’s so much better,” Kyle said smiling, though it didn’t look better at all, “What did you bring?”

“Just some chips and sodas. But I don’t know if you should have any. You look kinda sick.”

“I’m just on a lot of meds right now.”

“Oh, really?” Stan asked, knowing all too well that Kyle’s type 1 diabetes’ medication didn’t often mix well with other medications, “How do you feel?”

“Well I’ve definitely felt better. But I’m okay. Really. I could have gotten much worse.”

“Yeah, really, though. Vehicles that big can kill people.”

“Yeah. Can I have some chips and soda?”

“Oh yeah, dude, of course,” Stan said. Fumbling through the plastic bag, he removed a Mountain Dew and a bag of some alternative healthy chip brand; both were Kyle’s favorites. Once he made sure Kyle could eat and drink fine, he took out his own pack of Pringles and a bottle of Pepsi; neither of which were Stan’s favorites; and they ate their snacks together as the movie played.

A few minutes into the snack, Kyle asked something that caught Stan off guard.

“So,” Kyle began in between bites, “do you want to do the honor to sign my cast?”

“Hell yes,” Stan said, setting down his soda, “Am I gonna be the first one to sign?”

“Of course you are.”

“It would be an honor and privilege to serve you, my lord,” Stan said, already hustling to the drawer of the coffee table to find a permanent marker.

“Oh tut tut,” Kyle played along, waving his fingers in the air like royalty, “You have been a good citizen,  _ knave. _ I suppose in rightly justice it’s high time you were honored this way.”

“I very much appreciate the opportunity, my lord.”

Stan found a permanent black paint marker resting behind a box of tissues in the drawer. He found himself a spot on the couch where he could be near Kyle’s foot without having to move it, and sat there as he inspected the cast for a good place to sign.

“I will be generous,” Kyle went on, clearly having too much fun with the role playing, “If you impress me,  _ knave,  _ I will have you knighted for your good deeds.”

“‘twould be a dream come true, your highness,” Stan said. He decided he would sign his name dead center of the cast. That wouldn’t be too ambitious, would it?

Kyle was carefully watching Stan with his big, green eyes. He noticed how all of a sudden Stan was a little too serious. He was writing his name abnormally slow, noticeably determined to have good penmanship on the cast. It was like all the life drained out of him all at once, and without reason. That made Kyle frown.

“Hey, Stan?”

“Yeah, Kyle?”

“Don’t you have football practice this time of day?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault that drunk bitch was on the road driving practically a tank,” Stan spat out that last bit heatedly. He kept his composure, but he was filled with rage.

Kyle’s heart sank, “Stan, it’s just a broken ankle. I’m okay.”

Stan didn’t respond. He didn’t even make eye contact. Instead, he stepped back from the cast to admire his writing. His name was written in bold block letters right in the center of the cast where anyone could see. His writing was perfect, too.

“There you go,” Stan said, admittedly a little proud of his work.

That made Kyle’s smile return.

“Hey, Stan,” Kyle started getting excited, “I just had an idea. Why don’t you draw something?”

“Why draw something?”

“It occurred to me that when I get back to school, everyone’s gonna want to draw dicks all over my cast. I’d like to have at least one good thing I can look at.”

Stan laughed a little, “That’s true. Everyone except for maybe Butters. What do you want me to draw?”

Kyle shrugged, “Whatever suits you.”

“I can’t draw.”

“Sure you can.”

“No, I can’t. You’re much better at drawing than I am.”

“So?”

“So? Why don’t you draw something, Kyle?”

“Do you expect me to lean all the way down to my broken foot and draw a five star masterpiece upside down?” Kyle dared, eyebrow raised.

“Not gonna lie, I would respect you ten times more if you actually did.”

“Bet,” with that challenge, Kyle leaned forward and snatched the marker from Stan’s hands in a single gesture. But the movement was too quick and too strenuous; almost as soon as he moved, Kyle recoiled back into himself in pain. With his free hand he gripped the small of his back, leaning back and grimacing. He was scarily pale once again because in that mere fraction of a second the blood drained from his face; even his lips were white.

“Dude!” Stan pressed Kyle back into the pillow. Using his large athletic hands, he moved Kyle’s head back against the pillow by gently pushing his chin back and upwards.

“Breathe,” Stan commanded.

Kyle obliged, eyes shut tightly. It took a while, but eventually the color flowed back into his face, and he felt like he was actually living again. His dizziness was starting to fade. When Kyle opened his eyes, he could see the terror in his best friend’s eyes as they sat so affectionately close to each other on the couch.

“Dude,” Stan said in a meek voice barely louder than a whisper, “Are you sure it’s just a broken ankle? Did you hit your head at all?”

“No,” Kyle answered honestly, he was starting to see and think a lot more clearly now that his dizziness was dissipating, “I was tested for concussions and brain damage and everything. They said I was fine. I don’t remember my head hitting the ground at all.”

“Well, I find it hard to believe that the bus hit your ankle,” Stan grumbled, “I mean it literally doesn’t make sense. Your ankle is like three inches off the ground. The bus has to be a solid foot and a half off the ground”

Kyle blinked, “The bus didn’t hit my ankle, it hit my back.”

Stan’s heart dropped into his grinding stomach, “What?”

“It hit my back. It made me fall forward over the curb, where I broke my ankle.”

“It hit your  _ back? _ ”

“Yeah.”

“Well, why the hell are you in an ankle cast? Is your back broken?”

“No, my back’s not broken,” Kyle huffed. By the tone of his voice, he was starting to get irritated with Stan’s overbearing mania.

“Did they even check it-” 

“-Stan, don’t-”

“-I just need to see if-” as Stan spoke he moved in on Kyle, reaching his hand around Kyle’s side to the back and moving it upwards underneath Kyle’s shirt.

_ “Shit!  _ That  _ hurts, _ Stan! Stop!” Kyle recoiled, his back arching unnaturally, like an injured cat, as Stan’s hand made contact with his skin. When he bucked his waist forward, Stan’s hand, caught in the fabric of Kyle’s shirt, went along with the movement and gutted Kyle right in the small of his spine.

His response was dismal as he squirmed disturbingly against the pillow, yelping out in pain.

_ “Kyle, are you okay, bubby?”  _ came the shriek-like calling of Sheila from the kitchen.

Stan jumped backwards onto his heels, both hands clasped solemnly in front of him.

Kyle clasped his hand over his own mouth, as if to silence something he was preparing to say. He tried for eye contact with Stan, but the quarterback was looking down soullessly at his hands in his lap. Turning his head so that his voice would carry, Kyle called to the kitchen, “Yeah, mom, sorry! We’re all good. I just bumped my foot on the floor, that’s all.”

_ “Okay, bubby,” _ Sheila called back. Both boys detected the slight sadness returning to her voice,  _ “Just be more careful, okay? Let me know if you need anything!” _

“Okay!”

The only sound resonating in the living room was that of the television, which had at this point switched to a commercial break. The TV’s sounds were staticy and malformed; Stan and Kyle sat silently through them. Kyle was still attempting to connect with his best friend, but Stan was shutting down. The hurt in acknowledgement of what he did was crushing him from the inside out. Kyle frowned. If only he could move, he would hug Stan. But he was in so much pain that even moving to look at him was a task.

He opened his mouth to say something, but it was Stan who broke the silence.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Stan, I’m okay.”

“Kyle, you’re hurt.”

“And that’s not your fault. You were trying to help. No harm done.”

Stan glanced up from his clasped hands, “For real?”

“For real,” Kyle said. 

He held out his fist, Stan returned the gesture with a fist bump. Kyle proceeded to make a goofy face to break the tension, and Stan responded with an even dumber one. This was one of the few strengths that comes with male friendships. Hard feelings were essentially nonexistent.

“Why don’t you make a drawing on the cast already?” Kyle asked, getting excited once more, “I’ve been waiting all this time and all you’ve done was write your name. From where I’m sitting it doesn’t even look like English.”

“Okay, okay,” Stan rolled his eyes, “I’m just trying to think of something good. I want you to be able to wear my drawing like a badge of honor.”

“Ooo I don’t know about that,” Kyle crossed his arms across his chest, “I’m tough to please.”

“Tell me about it,” Stan agreed, “Just give me a moment to think. I want it to be just right.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and huffed, “Pssh. Artists.”

Once Stan had in mind what he was drawing, he set himself to work. Again, he was drawing slowly, but this time with the best of intentions and without hesitation. He was never one of those people to find drawing a form of relaxation, but honestly he felt quite at ease feeling the tip of the paint marker slide over the ridges of the cast material. It was strangely fascinating.

“So do you want to know what happened?”

It was Kyle who said that.

From where he was sitting, Kyle was looking down at Stan with his wide, understanding eyes in a manner that was humbling for Stan to experience. Kyle’s arms were still crossed over his chest, but the gesture carried a different meaning now. It was like he was shielding himself, like he was afraid.

Stan indeed desperately wanted to know what happened, but he cared too much for that.

“Only if you don’t mind telling,” Stan said, and he meant it.

“I don’t,” Kyle said, and he meant it, too.

“Okay.”

Kyle took a deep breath, “I was walking with Leslie to her house after school. We’re working on a project together and we were supposed to stay late after school to work on it, but she said she left some of her materials at home. So I was walking with her. Some freshman were walking home, too, her next door neighbors or something. It was just supposed to be a five minute walk roundtrip, there and back.”

Kyle’s good foot, the one that wasn’t trapped inside a cast, started tapping against the arm of the couch nervously. Stan only noticed because he was sitting right there beside it. He could actually feel the anxious  _ bum bum bum _ of the foot against the fabric. Kyle either didn’t notice what his foot was doing or he pretended not to notice as he continued talking.

“I mean, I didn’t even see the bus coming. It came from behind. I didn’t hear it, either. None of us did. You know, the one time it would’ve been a good thing that the bus is obnoxiously loud, it wasn’t. Just my luck,” Kyle’s short temper was starting to present itself. His thin eyebrow was twitching and the tapping of his foot went faster, “Anyway, the bus hit from behind. It hit me and a freshman in the back, the other freshman jumped out of the way but got his leg run over by the tire, Leslie was hit in the head and was KO’ed, but it’s all good because I broke her fall. I think she broke her arm, too. Anyway, when she fell on me, I was knocked over the curb and I broke my ankle. The freshman, the first one, was knocked ten feet up the street and bruised a few ribs.”

“Damn.”

“What’s crazy is that this all happened in the span of, like, two seconds. Probably even shorter than that.”

“Dude,” Stan frowned. While Kyle’s short temper often annoyed others, it made Stan feel bad. He knew that each time Kyle became agitated, he actually  _ felt  _ it. His disturbance was not something Kyle could control, and it really did dismay him. Kyle was practically quaking in distress, and there was nothing Stan could do about it. It was really sad that all Stan could do was say, “I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, I am too.”

“Were there…” Stan tried to choose his words carefully. He feigned focus on the drawing so he didn’t have to struggle for eye contact, “... people on the bus?”

“What? Oh, yeah. There were. The normal route. So, everyone. Everyone was on the bus when it happened. Kenny, Craig, everyone. Yes, even Cartman.”

Stan groaned, “Oh no. Not Cartman. Please don’t tell me he’s been picking on you for this.”

“Thankfully, I haven’t heard a single word from him,” Kyle said, his agitation leaving little by little, “Maybe he’s pretending to be shell-shocked from the whole thing so his mommy can take him to the hospital.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Yeah.”

“Any word from Kenny or anyone else?”

“No. I don’t know where my phone is. I think it might be at school.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

As he continued touching up on his drawing, it occurred to Stan that he knew he had to ask something, but he didn’t really know how to ask it. Kyle was just now starting to calm down, and one wrong word had the potential to upset him again. Not only that, but Stan didn’t know what he was getting himself into if he were to ask the question. This type of event wasn’t one of their usual, quirky adventures. This was scary real life.

“So,” Stan began. He focused on the way the paint marker reacted to the smooth plastic ridges of the cast, “What happened at the doctor’s?”

“Oh well, you know,” Kyle began, his foot tapping steadily; the tapping wasn’t getting any faster, which was good, “My mom took me to the emergency room. She got there real quick, too. One of the few advantages of having a New Jersey housewife for a mom. Anyway, we got there. I got some bloodwork and X-rays done. They wrapped my foot up when they knew my ankle was broken. Then when I told them my back really hurt, they asked if they could take off my shirt so they could look at it. I said yes, of course. But my mom-” his stare was empty, pitifully empty, “-my mom said no.”

Stan was bewildered. He took his hands away from Kyle’s cast and stared at him in disbelief, “She said no? Like, ‘no, my son’s back is probably broken and he almost died today but no, you can’t see if he’s okay?’”

“Well obviously she didn’t say  _ that _ exactly.”

“Obviously.”

Kyle’s brow furrowed and his arms drew closer into his chest. He nodded, “But yeah, that’s pretty much what she said.”

“Why did she say no?”

“I don’t know. She has this thing where she doesn’t like it when people touch me-” he stopped. Kyle offered a fake smile, “-I know. It’s dumb, right? Having the doctors carry me in and paw all over my foot upset her enough. But my back… I don’t know, this is gonna sound dumb-”

“-No it’s not.”

“Thanks, but it might sound a little dumb. I don’t know. I just think the back is a really  _ intimate _ spot, you know? Like, it’s not something people go around showing off. Unless you’re into that sort of thing, I guess. It’s just a really personal part of the body.”

Stan nodded, “I get it. No, I really do. When my coach wants me to make an adjustment in practice, he always asks before he touches me. Sometimes I say no. I get it.”

Kyle nodded too, but forcefully so. His foot sped up and started tapping rapidly, “Yeah, so she said no. She was real adamant about it, too. Real upset. And yeah, I get it, she was probably more scared than I was and she was just trying to be a good mom. But it really didn’t help me out. They still had to check if my back was broken or not. But since they weren’t allowed to look at it, the doctors had to  _ feel  _ my spine with their hands over the shirt so they wouldn’t touch any skin. So they were  _ gripping _ each bone to make sure everything was in place. Strong, strong hands right where the bus hit me. My back isn’t broken as far as they’re concerned, but god _ damn _ it, it hurt like hell. I mean, just  _ thinking _ about it already makes me…”

Stan waited for Kyle to finish the thought. He didn’t. They were sitting in silence over the cacophony of noises erupting from the television. The only other sound was the expeditious thumping of Kyle’s good foot tapping the fabric of the couch.

Stan cleared his throat nervously, “Could I see?”

“What?”

“Well, the doctors couldn’t see. Could I see your back? I mean, I’ve seen plenty of injuries on the fields. I think I can help with-”

“-I don’t think I can do that, Stan.”

The beating of the foot was instantaneous.

“Thank you for telling me,” Stan said sweetly.

“Yeah, no biggie,” Kyle lied.

“I finished the drawing.”

“What? Lemme see! Move!”

…

“What is it?”

“What do you mean ‘what is it?’ I’m not  _ that _ bad of an artist!”

“Stan, I am looking at it upside down.”

“Just look at it a little closer.”

“...is it… Is it two superheroes?”

“Yeah!”

“And there’s some writing on their hero costumes. What’s the writing?”

“SBFs,” Stan answered, the feeling of the letters on his tongue warmed his throat like smooth honey. This was something that brought him back to his childhood, reminded him of his present, and looked forward to his future with Kyle all at the same time. Their code word was one of Stan’s most sacred possessions.

Kyle flushed, “Super Best Friends?” he spelled out.

“Of course,” Stan said, putting the cap back on the marker, “It’s not too dumb, is it?”

“If everyone knew, maybe,” Kyle admitted, laughing a bit, “Thankfully it’s a sort of a secret what SBF means.”

“Not really,” Stan laughed out loud, “Everyone in town knows at least fifty things about us.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

They shared a laugh and tried to go back to watching the movie. It was pretty difficult to follow along because they had been distracted for two thirds of the plot. Kyle was the only one of the two actively making an effort to watch the movie, eyes glued to the screen in perplex, but determined, confusion. Stan, on the other hand, let his gaze fall onto his best friend. He didn’t look picture perfect today, he was injured and in pain, and Stan still had the theory that he was ill on top of all of that. But despite all his grievances, Kyle was still here. He was okay.

“Hey,” Stan announced, standing up from his place on the couch, “I gotta take a piss.”

“Thank you for sharing.”

“How’s your blood sugar? You need me to pick up a juice or something while I’m up?” Stan asked, already heading towards the exit of the living room.

“Yeah, a juice would probably be good,” Kyle answered, snuggling back into his pillow, still absorbed by the movie with fascination.

“Okay,” Stan said. He let his eyes linger on Kyle a little longer before he left. There was something just so magical by being able to admit that Kyle was here, and he was okay. He was still living, breathing, and engaging. He still had his witty humor and his short temper. He was okay.


	2. Chapter 2

In an odd sort of way, Stan couldn’t help but appreciate the Broflovskis’ bathroom. Out of context, that sounded weird (and a little creepy). But all Stan meant was that he didn’t take for granted its cleanliness and aesthetic. The bathroom in which Stan was currently washing his hands was painted in a serene shade of purple-blue, and the ceramics were marble through and through. Even the mirror was beautiful, oval and in a picturesque marble frame. Stan even appreciated the way the hand towels and shower curtain coordinated with the color scheme.

The same thing could be said about their whole house, for that matter. Kyle and his family had nice things and kept an impressive abode. They owned expensive furniture, and kept the place tidy from top to bottom. The cleanliness was most certainly due to Sheila’s being a housewife, which Stan understood well. But it was pretty profound that the magnitude of the Broflovski home was thriving off of one income. That was pretty impressive.

That didn’t go to say that the family was wealthy. They were far from it, actually. As was Stan’s family. But Stan nonetheless was awe-inspired every time he went to Kyle’s house. Stan’s family most likely made the same amount of money, if not more money, considering that both of his parents worked, but his Dad was a chaotic, impulsive man and there was no limit to how he spent his income. And it was because both of his parents worked and his family was constantly picking up after his dad’s messes that Stan’s house wasn’t near as tidy as Kyle’s. His family had little time to clean it, and when they did have time they rarely bothered.

So it was not a surprise that Stan felt a deep satisfaction every time he went to his best friend’s house. There was cool stuff, little mess, and of course, his best friend.

As Stan was finishing drying his hands, he felt a long buzz from the phone in his pocket. Without bothering to read the caller ID, he answered the phone call.

“Hello? This is Stan,” he greeted, resting his other hand on the marble countertop.

_ “Ayo, Stan my dude!”  _ shouted the pleasant voice of Kenny from the other side of the phone call,  _ “You sick or somethin’, bro? First period just ended and you ain’t here.” _

“Kenny, it’s good to hear from you,” Stan replied honestly, a smile coming to his face at the sound of his friend’s never-ending enthusiasm, “I’m not sick. I’m just with Kyle today. He says you were on the bus when…  _ it _ happened.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Kenny responded, as if he were about to say something, but then stopped himself. When Kenny did speak again, his voice was as cheerful as always.

_ “Yeah, I was there. The first five minutes of the bus ride were kinda dope, though. Our bus driver, she was as drunk as a dog. Besides the terrifying spinning and swerving on the icy roads, her stories and singing were kinda fun to hear.” _

“Yeah? That’s cool, I guess, in a sad sort of way,” Stan said. He couldn’t help but get the impression Kenny was still deeply upset about the accident; and honestly, he should be; who wouldn’t? But the way Kenny was feigning cheerfulness and switching subjects gave Stan the idea that Kenny wasn’t ready to talk about what happened just yet. He understood well enough. He wasn’t ready to adress what happened either, he still felt like there were a lot of missing elements to the story. But that was for another time.

“But yeah,” Stan continued, “I’m out today. I’m sure PC Principal will excuse my absence in the name of defying toxic masculinity to support my best friend, or whatever. Something like that.”

_ “A’ight bet. Sounds good to me.” _

“Yeah. Tell everyone I said ‘hi.’ And get the class notes for me, okay?”

_ “No promises. You know I’m not good at paying attention in class. I’ll try though.” _

“Ah, it’s fine. I could always ask Ky-...” Stan cleared his throat, “I could always ask Wendy or Butters.”

_ “A’ight,” _ from the tone in Kenny’s voice, Stan was unable to tell if Kenny picked up on his falter just then. That made him a little nervous.

_ “And hey,”  _ Kenny continued,  _ “Tell Kyle I said ‘hi,’ okay? And that I hope he heals up quick.” _

“I will for sure. I can ask him if you can come over after school.”

_ “Thanks. ‘Preciate it.” _

“Of course, man. Take care.”

_ “Knowing me, I probably won’t. But thanks. See ya around, Stan.” _

“See you around,” with that done and out of the way, Stan left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen downstairs to grab Kyle his drink. He’s been going to Kyle’s house since they were seven or eight years old, maybe even before that; so he knew his way around. He could argue that he knew Kyle’s house better than he knew his own.

When Stan arrived in the kitchen, clean and beautiful as always, he noticed that it wasn’t empty. Kyle’s father was peering into the fridge, a bottle of beer in his hand.

The man was noticeably caught off guard when the best friend of his oldest son simply strode into the kitchen. He blinked once or twice in disbelief, then recovered by sticking out his hand to greet him.

“Stan,” he said with forced enthusiasm, “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

“Yes sir,” Stan said, shaking the gentleman’s hand, not entirely sure of what else he could say, “I, um, I’m sorry about Kyle.”

As the handshake ended, Gerald raised an eyebrow, “Kyle?”

Stan’s mouth nearly dropped. The only reason it didn’t was because he clenched his jaw shut to prevent it from doing so; this was Kyle’s father he was talking to, not his own father, so Stan had to demonstrate common decency by having at least a little bit of manners. Stan cleared his throat, “The bus accident?”

Nodding and sipping from his beer, Gerald got back on track, “Oh right, yes, yes of course. The bus accident. Of course, what else? I’m sorry, Stan my boy, the way you worded that just made me think something worse happened,” he laughed nervously, “You have to imagine all the things the family and I are going through right now.”

“Yes, of course. I understand. My condolences.”

“But thank you for being here. I’m sure Kyle appreciates the company while his foot’s healing up. Especially coming from you. I’m pretty sure that kid of mine likes you more than he does his own brother.”

Stan smiled, “That’s a big compliment, sir. I know how much he loves Ike.”

Gerald nodded, eyebrows arched sarcastically as he started to hum the famous  _ I Like Ike  _ song from the Eisenhower campaign. As he was humming, he recycled his empty beer bottle, then went to the fridge for another. He had his back turned to Stan, opening the beer bottle, when he stopped humming to ask, “You and the other kids are going to help him catch up on the school work he’s missing, yes?”

“Yes sir. I can’t today, of course. But I had Kenny ask the smart kids to take notes for me, so I’m sure they’ll cover for Kyle, too.”

“Why can’t you catch him up on today?” 

The question startled Stan. The concern in Gerald’s sentence was so exaggerated that Stan thought he was making a dad joke. It wasn’t until Gerald turned back to face him that Stan saw the sheer pressure in the man’s face. It took only that one moment for Stan to realize that he was completely serious.

Stan quietly wondered if Gerald was drunk.

“I’m not at school today, Mr. Gerald, I’m at your house. I’m looking after Kyle today.”

The man’s eyes were like piercing daggers. That was terrifying in itself considering that he had been so jovial and friendly not even a full minute ago.

“I didn’t realize you were staying.”

“Um. My first class probably already ended,” Stan said dumbly.

“Is my wife not home?” Gerald asked. It sounded more like a statement.

“Ms. Sheila?” Stan asked, just now spotting a pink vase supporting the flowers he bought for her, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s here. I just don’t know where she is right at this moment, though. She could have left.”

To that Gerald had no verbal response. He just muttered under his breath as he cast Stan a disapproving glance, and then left for his office.

Stan always got the impression that Kyle’s dad was distant from the rest of the family. He had always assumed it had something to do with a busy work schedule, but after this encounter, he couldn’t deny that there was some distance on a psychological level as well. Perhaps even a substance abuse level.

That reminded Stan of how Kyle’s dad had been absent during the entire injury ordeal thus far. He wasn’t there when Kyle was at the doctor’s, nor was he even at the house this morning when Stan arrived. 

Stan frowned as he fetched a glass from the cupboard, starting to feel something heavy weighing down on his subconscious. Having an abusive father himself was bad enough, but Kyle going through the same thing? Just the thought was tearing him from the inside out.

Stan challenged himself to not think too much of it. He tended to be an over-thinker and a major worrier, especially when it came to his super best friend, so the greatest thing he could do as of right now was just let the situation be, but approach Kyle if he had any concerns later.

He poured some fruit juice into the glass from the fridge until it was mostly full (“hardly empty” as pessimistic Stan preferred to call it), and then headed back to the living room.

Thankful to not walk in on another surprise guest, Stan smiled when he saw that the only person in the living room was Kyle. He was sprawled out over the couch, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“Catch,” Stan announced, raising the glass of juice.

Kyle jumped.

Stan laughed. 

Kyle breathed out a sigh of relief, “Dude, if you actually threw that thing the juice would go everywhere. One of us would’ve gotten beat.”

“Believe me, if this was bottled, I would’ve chucked it right at your forehead,” Stan smirked as he sat down at his spot on the couch. He was careful when he passed the drink over.

“Why?” Kyle asked after taking a sip, “You should aim for my nose. It’s a bigger target.”

Stan erupted into laughter.

Kyle arched his eyebrow, “What?”

“Sorry!” Stan exclaimed through his laughter, it was so hard to contain his gasping for air between laughs.

“Shut up!”

_ “You  _ made the joke, not me!”

“I know, but it’s not  _ that _ funny!”

“Oh it is. Believe me. It is!”

“Shut up! You’re gonna make me choke on fruit punch,” Kyle hissed, before taking a sip from the glass. 

Stan began to calm down little by little, and Kyle followed in suit. They returned to watching the movie, though Stan was still completely lost by the plot. He didn’t bother asking any questions about the movie because frankly, he had already missed so much that it would be a wasted effort for Kyle to explain it.

Instead, Stan started with:

“Hey, did you know your dad’s here?”

Kyle had to take the glass away from his face, “He is?”

“Yeah. He was in the kitchen.”

“Hm. Weird.”

“Thank God, I wasn’t the only one thinking that.”

“My mom must be out of the house, then. She probably doesn’t want me to be home alone when I’m a crip.”

“Don’t call yourself a ‘crip.’ That’s just outright offensive. That’s not right.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said. And from the tone of his voice, Stan knew he really meant it.

Stan could have just stopped the conversation there. But he couldn’t stop himself, “So does your mom not trust you being home alone with me?”

“I thought she did. I guess not.”

“Hm. Weird.”

“Yeah.”

They watched the movie in an uncomfortable fifteen minutes of silence before-

“Hey, Stan?”

“Yeah, Kyle?”

From the weak smallness in his voice, Stan expected his friend to be ghastly pale again. Instead, he was surprised to see that Kyle was actually a bright shade of pink. His gaze was cast downward and his fingers were twiddling nervously.

“This is, um, this is kinda embarrassing,” Kyle started, the speed of his shifting fingers beginning to pick up.

“What is it, Kyle?”

“I, um… I need to go to the bathroom.”

Stan blinked. He laughed, “Well, thank you for sharing!”

“No, Stan. I can’t-” Kyle bit his lower lip, “-I can’t  _ go _ to the bathroom. I can’t walk. I don’t have crutches.”

Stan stopped laughing in a split second. He felt like he was punched in the face.

“Oh,” was all Stan could say.

“Yeah,” Kyle’s face went a shade redder.

“Do you want me to get your… dad?” he was going to say ‘mom,’ but remembered that she was out of the house.

“No,” Kyle answered a little too quickly.

That was concerning.

“Well, dude, I can help you to the bathroom. It’s not a biggie,” Stan offered. And it really wasn’t a big deal, either, he wasn’t just saying that. They had been comfortable with each other their entire lives. It was honestly a little insulting that Kyle thought he should be afraid of asking Stan for help with something as simple as human bodily relief.

“Okay,” Kyle didn’t question it. He kicked his legs over the side of the couch so he could stand up, leaning on the couch arm as he did so.

“So, how are we…”

“Do you wanna lean on me and you hobble?” Stan offered.

“Sure.”

Stan stood too, and tucked an arm under Kyle’s armpit to act as an anchor, doing his best to avoid touching his sensitive back. In turn, Kyle wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulders for leverage.

It was so interesting, their height dynamic.

When they were babies, they were always the same size. Both were born premature and were much smaller than all the other toddlers in daycares; but they were still identical to each other in height. As soon as grade school started, Kyle seemed to always have a two or three inch advantage over Stan. At one point in middle school, Kyle was even five inches taller than Stan.

It wasn’t until high school that Stan’s puberty hit him like a truck. Maybe it was because of all of the intense training, conditioning, and diet changes Stan had to have as quarterback. But for whatever reason it was, he shot up an entire seven inches taller than Kyle. (Stan was 6 foot 3 inches, while Kyle stopped growing at 5 foot 7.) Not only that, but he was four and a half inches wider across the shoulders, noticeably larger in the limbs, and definitely heavier in weight because he had put on so much muscle. Kyle remained lean through it all; Stan still couldn’t tell if it was due to genetics or because of a poor diet.

What was really interesting about their height dynamic though, was that neither of them noticed it. They really never had any idea who was taller or shorter, fatter or thinner, or more or less ugly. It wasn’t until Kenny brought it up in conversation one day at school that it actually occurred to them.

So from his higher point of view, Stan watched Kyle as he took the first few hops across the living room hardwood floor. His injured foot was weighing him down due to the heavy cast, but Kyle was agile enough to move without too much exhaustion. He thankfully wasn’t exerting all of his weight on Stan as they hobbled together down the floor with Kyle jumping, Stan assisting, Kyle jumping, Stan assisting, and so on.

Halfway down the hardwood hallway, Stan noticed that Kyle was starting to struggle a bit. He was taking in quicker breaths, and releasing heavier ones. Furthermore, with each hop he went paler and paler; once again, the sudden motion was shocking his body that had been peacefully resting just moments before.

Stan slowed down a bit, “Dude, do you need to re-”

“I’m fine,” Kyle bit back defensively.

Stan didn’t say another word. He helped him finish the walk to the bathroom, helped him past the counter to the toilet, and then stood by the door frame with his back facing Kyle without one utterance. He waited until he heard the toilet flush and the clanking of Kyle’s belt loop as he fixed his pants, but for Kyle’s sake, Stan didn’t move until he heard the sink running.

Kyle was still avoiding eye contact as he washed his hands.

Stan tried to lighten the mood, “Dude. Sing Happy Birthday twice.”

“What the hell? Why?”

“That’s what all the health people are saying. Sing Happy Birthday twice so you know how long to wash your hands. You can’t be too safe these days.”

“Only if you sing it with me,” he said, finally making eye contact. His eyebrow was arched comically high as he smirked dead in Stan’s face.

“I’d be honored,” Stan snapped back, smirking just as boldly.

There was a weird pause, as if they were both waiting for the other one to start singing.

Then they realized the absurdity of the circumstance and broke into laughter. Stan had done it. He managed to cheer Kyle up. It felt so much better to see him joking around than acting all embarrassed like he did a few moments ago. It wasn’t Kyle’s fault he was hit by a bus for heaven’s sake. At least Stan could breathe easy knowing that his friend wasn’t completely shutting down on him.

Over the sound of the sink running and the air conditioner humming overhead, Stan almost didn’t hear Kyle’s question.

Well, he actually  _ didn’t _ hear it, because Kyle asked it so softly.

The only reason Stan knew that Kyle spoke at all was because he was able to read his lips in the bathroom mirror.

“Do you want to look at my back?” Kyle had asked, Stan reading the words his lips formed.

Stan couldn’t pinpoint why, but for some reason that question struck him like a dagger.

“But, I-” Stan stammered, “-I thought your mom doesn’t-”

“My mom isn’t here,” Kyle delivered this line without spite, but honest leverage.

“I don’t know, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go against your mom when she-”

“-It’s  _ my _ body, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I have a right to know?”

Stan’s jaw dropped,  _ “You _ don’t even know what your back looks like?”

“No! It’s my  _ back, _ I can’t look at it. It’s not like it’s my finger, or my arm, or even my broken ankle here. It’s not like I can see it.”

“Good point.”

“I always make good points,” Kyle’s tone lacked the usual bite to it, like he was a little more sad. Stan could see it in his deep green eyes, too. And that broke Stan’s heart. Of course Kyle had a right to know the condition of his own body. Why wouldn’t he?

“Of course,” Stan said, “I’m, uh… I’m gonna take off your shirt now.”

“G’head.”

Stan assumed his place directly behind Kyle in the mirror, with the both of them facing it, neither looking at each other on its surface. Stan steadied his hands at the hem of Kyle’s shirt, and then gently assisted the piece of clothing upwards and over Kyle’s neck and then his head until it was completely removed.

The first thing Stan wanted to do was scream. Or cry. Because the horror of the monstrosity he saw was just so depressing that Stan felt the instinct to cry out.

But Stan loved his friend, and he wouldn’t dare distress him. So Stan bit down on his tongue inside his closed mouth as he examined Kyle’s injury.

There was no denying that the bus struck here. Kyle’s flesh from the base of his neck to the top of his tailbone was bruised a dismal shade of purple. There were several small cuts nicking the bruises, most likely not from the bus itself but from road debris and the fall to the concrete ground. He was swollen in unnatural places and banged up all over. There were even lumps so angular that Stan was forced to assume that Kyle’s ribs were out of place.

He could feel a tear starting to well in his eye. Stan was now biting down so hard on his tongue that he could taste blood. With shaky hands, he handed the shirt back to Kyle.

Kyle took it, confused as to why Stan wouldn’t just put his shirt back on for him.

“Stan? You okay?”

Stan shrugged. The melancholy was conspicuous.

“Am I okay, Stan?”

Stan shrugged, though it was an effort. His shoulders were weighed down by something invisible.

“Stan, what’s wrong with my back? It’s banged up, isn’t it? I knew it. I mean I can feel it, I don’t know what it looks like, but I can feel it.”

“I… I can’t even imagine how much it hurts, Kyle.”

“... is it that bad?”

“I could take a picture and show you, if you want.”

“... no. I probably shouldn’t. Just tell me what it looks like.”

Stan let go of the hold on his tongue. He could taste the blood filling behind his gum ridge as he started to talk, “It’s, uh, it’s pretty banged up.”

“That bad?” Kyle asked, obviously able to read past Stan’s defenses.

“No. Worse.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” Stan was forcing the tears back into his skull. He would not cry. Not here. Not now.

“What should I do, Stan?” Kyle was gazing up at him in the mirror with his huge green eyes. It was so unlike him to ask someone else for direction; he was so head-strong and self-motivated.

Stan blew air out of his lips, “Honestly? I’d get down on my knees and beg your mom to let you go to the doctor. I mean, a goddamn doctor should be able to touch you.”

“Well, it’s only that-” Kyle stopped short and dropped his head.

“What?” Stan asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, what were you saying?”

“Don’t worry about it. Never mind.”

Stan was walking on thin ice, and both he and Kyle knew it. With a deep sigh, he folded his hands into his pockets and succumbed, “Okay.”

Kyle put his shirt back on, straining a bit with his shoulders. Then he turned to face Stan and slapped him on the shoulder, “Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t you pick up Kenny from school and the three of us can hang out?”

Stan smiled, “On a school day?”

“Why not? School’s are gonna close soon because of the virus anyway. It’s not like we’re gonna miss much. Besides, I miss him. I haven’t seen him in like… eight hours. I’m getting Kenny withdrawal syndrome.”

“Oh my, that sounds serious. I think it’s contagious, I’m getting symptoms, too. What do we do, Doctor Broflovski?”

Kyle smiled back. He slammed his hands down on the marble counter like a doctor at his desk, “I prescribe at least five hours of exposure with the dumbass himself, and his healing magic should seep through your pores.”

Stan tilted his head to the side, looking at himself and Kyle in the mirror, “Do we need to get Cartman, too?”

“No!”

“But if I’m gonna get Kenny, I might as well get Cartman.”

“No! Cartman reverses the healing process of Kenny withdrawal syndrome!”

“But he’ll give us hell if we get Kenny but not him.”

“Oh fine. But he’s not allowed to make fun of my broken ankle.”

“Thank you, Doctor Broflovski. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d probably kill yourself, that’s what.”

Kyle meant it as a joke; Stan knew that, so of course he didn’t hold it against him.

But Stan also knew Kyle was right. He probably would.

He refused to let the thought linger.

“Okay, I’m gonna drive by the school and pick up the doofuses. Need anything?” Stan asked, already getting his car keys ready.

“Just you and Kenny,” Kyle smiled, “and maybe Cartman if he’s nice.”

“Bet. See you in a little bit.”

“See you in a little bit.”

* * *

Stan locked the car doors as soon as he was seated in the driver’s seat. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. 

Something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was because he was about to unleash the unholy wrath of Cartman on an injured and sickly Kyle. Or maybe it was because he was picking up his friends from school in the middle of a class. Or it could be because he’s leaving Kyle in a house all alone with his father, and something just didn’t feel right about that.

Maybe Stan could fix that. Or maybe not.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read!  
> Or don't. Make your own choices, live your own truth :)  
> If you don't mind spending two minutes, please let me know if this is a good story to continue or if it's better just being a one-shot. I like to hear reader advice/notes so that I can tailor the content to reader preferences. Your opinion matters to me! So do let me know your thoughts on how I'm doing so far and how I can improve.  
> By the way, did you know that non-Ao3 members can leave kudos and comments? Who knew! So to all the guests reading right now, yes you are encouraged to comment your thoughts too.  
> Thank you, and stay safe out there,  
> Electricity Today
> 
> P.S., I may or may not address COVID-19 in this writing if it continues to go on, so if you are sensitive to this topic, I will leave a warning in the writing.


	3. Chapter 3

“Yes, yes Kenny is my nephew,” Stan spoke through the phone to his high school attendance clerc as he sat in his parked car outside the school, “I need to pick him up. And Eric Cartman, too.”

_“You didn’t bring in a note for either of the students,”_ the nasally shrill of the clerc squaked back. Stan had to pry the phone away from his ear, the woman’s voice was so annoying. He was starting to hear a ringing. Why was it that hag still had a job?

“I know,” Stan replied, pretending to still have his composure, “but I have to take my nephew and his friend to… a conference.”

_“A conference?”_

“Yes.”

_“You have to take your high school nephew and his friend to a conference.”_

“Yes. It’s for… medical things. I’m like, I’m a doctor and we’re running some tests. My colleagues and I need to see how this new drug works on teens.”

_“Well, why didn’t you_ say _you were a doctor?! All you need is to bring in a note.”_

“Yeah, um, see my printer’s out at home. I can bring in a note tomorrow if that’s okay.”

_“Well, I don’t know... I’m going to need to call their parents-”_

“-No, you don’t have to do that-”

_“-because you’re not listed as a legal guardian-”_

“Okay, okay fine. But tell them-... Tell them that the name of the testing conference is ‘Broflovski,’” Stan said. This situation made Stan feel like he was an A-List spy in a movie, dropping special hints to the mysterious caller on the other line. Though it was certainly a fun thing to imagine, Stan knew full well that this was real life, and that he was depending entirely on if his friends’ parents could figure out what he was up to. Everyone at this point knew about Kyle’s accident, right? Hopefully Kenny and Eric’s parents would pick up on the hint and trusted Stan enough to make the right choice for Kyle’s sake. 

Stan waited for the clerc to speak again; he was listening to tedious hold music.

About five minutes of an annoying tune later, the clerc caught Stan with her shrill voice, _“Well, neither of the parents answered the call. I’m just going to have to trust you.”_

That was one advantage to having a faulty school system. There were always ways to tweak it for personal gain.

“Thank you so much,” Stan said, smiling. He hung up the phone and then rolled down the windows of his car as he waited for his friends to walk out of the school building.

Kenny was of course the first one out. He popped out of the front door in a full sprint, backpack flopping around, and hoodie blown back by all the running. Kenny was moving so fast that he was literally a bright orange blur zooming across the sidewalk. Only three seconds after he left the building, his mittened hand was tapping Stan’s passenger door insistently, a big, goofy smile across his face.

“Hiya, Stan!” Kenny greeted through the open window.

“Hey,” Stan replied. He pressed the unlock button on the door so Kenny could get in the car. When he did, he tossed his backpack in the back seat and didn’t bother with his seatbelt. He just propped his feet up on the dashboard as if he were raised in a pigsty and declared with confidence, “Alrighty, let’s go!”

“No, we need to wait for Cartman.”

“Cartman?” Kenny exclaimed, “Why the fuck are you picking up Cartman? I thought we were going to do something special.”

Stan rolled his eyes, “I’m only picking you up so you can spend some time with Kyle. Cartman, too. We’re being nice friends today.”

“I’m always a nice friend,” Kenny huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Stop pouting! He was hit by a _bus_ for Christ’s sake!”

Kenny shoved his tongue to the corner of his mouth, “We gonna be laughing about this in a few years. You know that, right?”

“I’m not,” Stan grumbled, “Not ever.”

“I’ll remember that three years from now.”

“I’m serious, Kenny,” Stan was starting to get irritated now.

“So am I!” Kenny shot back, distressed. He yanked his feet down from the dashboard and whipped to the left to face Stan head on, “Bro, let me remind you that I was literally on that bus when shit went down. Okay? I literally saw one of my best friends get hit by a fucking bus. That’s terrifying, dude. But I don’t care. I mean, I care. But I don’t. ‘Cause, I mean, Kyle’s okay. I know. And I know he’s gonna be okay ‘cause it’s just a broken ankle. Why worry when I know my boy’s resting easy?”

Stan frowned, he let his tight grip on the steering wheel loosen and his fingers slide down the rim. He watched his fingers, not Kenny, when he said, “That’s just a coping mechanism, Ken. It’s human nature to laugh at things that scare us.”

“It’s not a _coping mechanism,”_ Kenny spat back. He was getting defensive now.

“Sure it is,” Stan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t want Kenny to think he was arguing with him, Stan was merely compromising, “You don’t want to accept the horror of watching your friend get injured like that because you know it’s gonna mess up your brain, get you all jumbled up. So you try to laugh at it so you don’t get hurt.”

Kenny looked out the other window and huffed, “What are you, a shrink?”

“No. I’m in AP Psychology though.”

“Fuck you.”

“Kenny, come on.”

“Fuck you.”

“Kenny.”

It was only now that Stan realized Kenny was smiling.

“Fuck you, Stan!” Kenny flirted.

“Damn it, Kenny,” Stan laughed, burying his face in his hands on the steering wheel, “It’s not even been a full minute yet and you’re already driving me insane.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to quarantine together.”

“You’re telling me. Now why is Cartman taking so long?!”

As if on cue, the school door swung open violently, revealing the always irritated Eric Cartman, huffing and grumbling as he walked down the front sidewalk. He scanned the parking lot for any signs of his mother (since he wasn’t told beforehand that Stan was picking him up from school out of the blue), muttering to himself annoyedly. It wasn’t until his eyes settled on Stan’s beat up hand-me-down car that he grinned and actually moved with purpose.

He pulled open the car door to the backseat and threw his backpack at Kenny before sliding into the seat.

“Bro!” Kenny exclaimed. He whipped around in his seat to punch Cartman in the arm.

“Hey!” Cartman shouted, angered beyond what seemed even feasible, “I was just playing, calm down!”

“Both of you calm down!” Stan exclaimed, “I haven’t even started driving yet!”

“Ay yo, thanks for picking us up from school, my dude,” Kenny said, not missing a beat. He slung his arm around Stan graciously. Stan didn’t welcome the gesture as well, and he shrugged off Kenny’s arm.

“Why’re you picking us up from school, Stan? You trying to infect us with Corona or something?” Eric questioned from the back, “And why weren’t you in class today?”

“Buckle up, shut up, and I’ll tell you,” Stan ordered through gritted teeth.

With a shared sigh, Kenny and Cartman submitted to their friend and gave in. They buckled their seatbelts and then looked to Stan without a word. Stan waited until he was sure they were strapped in before putting the car into drive and heading down the road back to Kyle’s house.

“First of all, it’s ‘Covid-19,’ not ‘Corona,’” Stan said, glancing at Cartman through the rearview mirror, “Corona is actually a series of different viruses, including the common cold.”

“I didn’t ask,” Cartman spat.

“Do you want me to take you back to school? Because I will turn this car around!”

Kenny burst out laughing, “You sound like a boomer mom, dude!”

“I do not!”

“You do too!”

“Just tell me where we’re going!” Eric shrieked from the back seat.

“We are spending the day with Kyle,” Stan said. As he approached a red light, he put on the brakes and brought the car to a stop. Then he spun over his right shoulder to look Cartman in the eye, “I know it’s probably not your ideal day off school, but he’s having a tough time right now and we should be good to him.”

Eric pulled a face, “Fuck no. I’m not spending a day out of school with that Jew.”

Without a word, Stan put the child lock on all the doors and windows, just in case Cartman considered jumping out of the car. He went back to facing the road as the light turned green.

Kenny pulled a smirk, bright blue eyes full of delight, “Would you rather go back to school?”

“I just might,” Cartman said, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you would,” Kenny’s grin reminded Stan of the Cheshire Cat, “Because of the lesson we were learning in social sciences today.”

“No,” Eric exclaimed.

Now this was starting to interest Stan. A smirk appeared on his face, “What? What were we learning about today, Kenny?”

“No!” screamed Eric.

Kenny paid him no attention as he answered Stan in a sweet sing-song tone, “We were learning about the _obesity epidemic_ in the United States, and I guess it really hit home with our boy Eric.”

_“Shut up!”_ Cartman exclaimed, “I’m not _obese,_ I’m just big boned! I’m just carrying a lot of water weight right now!”

Stan laughed quietly to himself as Kenny rocked back and forth in explosive laughter and Eric fumed in the back.

Stan took a moment to appreciate Kenny and Eric’s presence. Spending a lot of time with Kyle often caused Stan to forget the likeness of other friends he has. That doesn’t go to say that Kenny and Eric are lesser friends--well they _are,_ because they’re not _super_ best friends- but they were still Stan’s _best friends._ Kenny could always cheer Stan up when he was down, and when times became rough, Cartman was always the best cavalry to have around. Kenny and Eric were annoying--annoying beyond _belief_ at times- but they both offered something for Stan and they were still really good friends in the end.

Thinking about this made Stan feel slightly guilty. Kenny and Eric were good to him, but Stan always placed Kyle before them. Was that wrong? To discard a good friend for another friend just because he is Stan’s favorite, was that selfish?

Stan pressed his left arm against the window and leaned his head into his hand morosely, solemnly. He felt weighed down, it didn’t help that Kenny and Eric were arguing over something tedious. Luckily their shrieking was blurred out by the watery ramifications of Stan’s head as he brooded; it was like he put a filter on them to drown the noise level. He could hear them, but he wasn’t listening.

That was probably why Kenny slapped his shoulder out of nowhere.

“Kenny!” Stan exclaimed, eyes flying wide open, “I’m driving! Do you want to get us killed?”

“Why weren’t you listening?!” Kenny blared, “I said _stop the car!”_

Stan slammed on the brakes.

The engine gave a disgusting, disgruntled sound as the tires battered the old road. The car swerved back and forth violently, Stan wrestling the wheel to keep control. With two or more turbulent throws, the car yielded to Stan’s commands and ceased to move any more.

Stan could feel his heart throbbing in his throat, which had gone dry, making it difficult to breathe. He was frozen to the wheel, eyes vast and uptight. 

Thank goodness the three of them were on a neighbourhood road in the middle of the day, when no one else was driving. Had anyone been driving in front of them, or even in the lane next to them, Stan was sure someone would have gotten injured. He was so stiff with fear and anger that he couldn’t even look at Kenny when he spoke.

“Kenny,” Stan started, voice like ice, “what the actual hell.”

The hooded teenager in the passenger seat was less disturbed. He was just fine. He sat slouching with a content expression, as if he had not been in the car’s violent brake. Eric was just the same way.

Kenny didn’t even answer Stan. He reached across Stan’s torso to the lock control buttons on the driver’s side. With his nimble mittened hands, Kenny unlocked his car door and popped out of the car.

Stan just watched, dumbfounded, as Kenny walked to the other side of the street to stand under a lampost. He raised his arms over his head, as if in triumph.

“Stan! Get out here!” Kenny called.

“What the _hell,_ Kenny!?” Stan shrieked, his voice breaking midway through the sentence. He wasn’t one to raise his voice, but Kenny’s unconventional behavior was making it exceedingly challenging for Stan to keep his cool.

“Stan, don’t you see?” Kenny called. He indicated the ground he was standing on. The sidewalk and road were scattered in shards of metal and plastic. Streaks of black tire marks were lined along the concrete. There were strands of yellow police tape strewn around without care. Kenny, in his bright orange hoodie, stood out among the dark crime scene. He flapped his arms agitatedly, “This is where the accident happened!”

“Yeah, this is where it happened,” Eric cut in from the back seat, apparently wanting to be part of the conversation.

But Eric’s words didn’t even register with Stan. He was already shaken from the near collision, and now Kenny tells him _this…_ Stan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was something he had to see.

He parked and shut off the car, unlocked his seatbelt, and then crossed the street to the site without looking both ways first. Now that he was up close, Stan could literally smell the burnt plastic from the wheels against the road. The odor was so strong and pernicious that it nearly made Stan gag. Just being here, in this dark, sad space, was revolting.

Kenny could clearly sense Stan’s distress, and to be honest, he looked quite upset himself. He kicked at a piece of yellow police tape, “I don’t know why this stuff’s here. There were literally no law enforcement officers until the last fifteen minutes, when they arrested the drunk driver.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Stan said, speaking unconsciously, “This sucks.”

“It really does. I’m sorry to show you, dude, but, I don’t know, I just felt like you needed to be here.”

“No, I get it,” Stan said. He forced a smile to Kenny, “Thanks.”

Kenny forced a smile back, “You’re welcome.”

Stan let his fake smile fall; there was no need for it, both he and Kenny were aware they were lying to themselves. Stan shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat, blowing air out of his lips as he looked around the site, “So this is the place.”

“Yup,” Kenny said. He pointed to a section of the curb, “he fell right there.”

Stan blinked. He didn’t expect Kenny to know the exact spot of the accident, and he much less expected Kenny to tell him so straightly, just like that. He crossed to the little spot Kenny indicated.

“Right here?”

“Yup,” Kenny rocked back and forth on his feet, like he was preparing for something. He was fidgeting, Stan noticed. But he wasn’t fidgeting the way Kyle does in which he fidgets to control his anger, nor the way their classmate Tweak does as a nervous tick. Kenny was fidgeting like he was holding himself back from something, which was pretty concerning for Stan to view from the outside. 

He was about to question him about it when Kenny cut him off, “I’m gonna give you a moment, I guess,” and with that, he headed back towards the car.

“Wait,” Stan called, catching Kenny in the middle of the street, “Is something wrong?”

Kenny smiled, genuinely this time, “Nah, man. Just thought you might need some alone time. I know this sitch is tough for you.”

Stan breathed a sigh of relief.

“Besides,” Kenny started, “Cartman could use some company. We’ll have some fun in the car. Take your time.”

And with that, Kenny left for the car. Kenny must’ve thought Stan wouldn’t notice when he cast a worried glance back at Stan before he disappeared into the car. Stan did notice, though. He did his best not to dwell on it, he knew it was just because Kenny cared. Besides, this wasn’t the place to think about his personal problems.

This wasn’t the place…

This was the place where his best friend could have died. That wasn’t an easy thing to accept. As Stan stood there amongst the plastic and metal remains, he could feel a massive amount of anxiety starting to bubble inside himself. Just something about the dismal atmosphere was triggering a surplus of emotions. With the yellow police tape crumbled under his foot and the wind gushing debris across the road, he could imagine all too brutally a lucid image of the massive tank of destruction making contact with innocent children.

Now that Stan looked, he could see a brown stain on the side of the curb. A blood stain. There were actually quite a few blood stains. He swallowed, bile rising in the back of his throat. He was only thankful that the blood wasn’t fresh and red, that would have really disturbed him; though his imagination could produce an equally horrific image.

“Wait a minute,” Stan spoke to himself, “Is that-?”

Kyle’s phone lay on the sidewalk, screen broken, under a bit of road debris. Stan stooped down to pick it up. With his hand he tried brushing off the dirt and glass, but the cracks remained where they were. He pressed the power button to test if the phone still worked, but only the low battery image appeared on the screen. Maybe if he charged it he would know for sure.

This was all the closure Stan needed. He could just leave this terrible place and bring the phone back to Kyle--Kyle, who was still very much alive.

Stan tucked the phone into his pants pocket and zipped it shut to secure it. He looked both ways before crossing the street and getting inside the car.

He certainly didn’t expect to walk in on the middle of a karaoke competition between Kenny and Cartman.

But Stan most  _ definitely _ didn’t expect to walk in on the specific song they were singing.

_ “Okay, boomer! You’re old and racist, something something something, try to pay my bills-” _

_ “Shut up!”  _ Stan exclaimed, laughing, “Guys, seriously! What the hell?”

“Oh, loosen up, Stan. You’re so tight,” Eric rolled his eyes.

“That’s what he said,” Kenny smirked.

“Shut up before I beat the shit out of you,” Cartman growled.

“That’s also what he said.”

Stan did his best to contain his laughter as he slipped into his seat and buckled his seatbelt.

“We ready for Kyle’s house?” Stan asked the guys.

“Of course!” Kenny exclaimed.

“Nooooo,” Cartman moaned from the back.

Stan put the car into drive, smirking, “I guess we’re ready then.”

* * *

Stan couldn’t describe just how happy he was that there weren’t any cars in the driveway. That had to mean that Gerald Broflovski wasn’t home, right?

He turned off the ignition and unlocked the car. Similarly to how Kenny had left school, the second the door was unlocked, Kenny was home free. He bolted out of the car with full force, nearly bludgeoning his forehead against everything he came in contact with. Eric was less excited. He muttered something vulgar to himself, still staring down at his phone screen, as he sluggishly ambled after Stan, out of the car, up the porch steps, and through the front door.

“Kyle!” Stan called into the house as soon as he was through the door. He took off his shoes while Eric did not, he kept his shoes on and strolled on through. Not seeing a pair of dirty brown athletic shoes anywhere, Stan could only assume that Kenny didn’t take off his shoes. Kenny himself was nowhere to be seen either.

“Kyle?” Stan called again, waiting for a response, “Ms. Sheila? Mr. Gerald? We’re here!”

Stan felt like he was waiting too long for a response. Everything was a little too quiet. Something wasn’t right.

“Hello?” Stan called.

_ “Stan!” _

That was all Stan needed.

All of a sudden, it was like he was on the football field again. Everything dark and sinister was running at him, but he had to push past with all the strength, speed, and agility he could muster. In that split second he heard the voice of his super best friend screaming his name, he started running like his life--or better yet, like  _ Kyle’s  _ life- depended on it. Down the hall, and up the stairs, and into the living room, flying off the balls of his feet, bang bang bang, all at once.

He came to a halt the precise moment he made contact with the hardwood floor of the living room, reaching for the arm of the couch for leverage. Eyes wide and alert, adrenaline pumping, he assessed the situation.

The first thing he saw was the bright orange bundle of Kenny in his hoodie on top of the couch, blocking any sign of Kyle from Stan’s line of view. He acted on impulse. Stan seized Kenny by his shoulders and wrenched him away from Kyle with an explosive amount of raw strength. Kenny may have been taller than Stan, but he was light as a bird, and so he came flying immediately. (However, it is worth noting that even if Kenny weighed as much as Eric Cartman, Stan still would have been able to pry him away just as easily due to the absolute vigor he possessed in that moment.)

Kenny came flying into Stan’s chest, and the two fell down on top of each other. Before Kenny even had time to react, Stan was already up on his feet and scampering to Kyle’s side.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he blurted out, panicking. He hadn’t broken a sweat or anything during the whole ordeal, but only now was he starting to breath unevenly and quickly. With fluttering fingers, he reached for Kyle’s chin, and tilted it rapidly (but gently) back and forth as he scanned his face for injury.

He didn’t see any bruises or scratches on Kyle’s porcelain face, so he was about to reach for Kyle’s arms to check them instead before Kyle raised his hands and cut him off-

“-Hey, it’s okay, Stan! Calm down!”

“But-But Kenny! What did he-?”

“-Just jumped on me, is all. Nothing. Just startled me, I guess.”

_ “Yeah!” _ Kenny shouted. He was still sprawled out on the floor. He was actually laying in the shape one would make to make a snow angel, “I didn’t do anything, Stan! Geez!”

“What’s going on?” came the voice of Cartman as he strolled into the living room. He had his phone out, but he wasn’t recording, nor was he looking at the screen. Instead, he was peering up at the boys with morbid curiosity, smirking devilishly as if he had walked in on some dirty secret.

Kenny blew a raspberry, “Stan’s just being an overprotective mama hen.”

“I am not a mama hen!” Stan exclaimed.

Kyle struggled to sit up.

Stan was there to the rescue, helping him with his pillow, “Here you go.”

“See?” Kenny shrieked, “There! Right there! Mama hen! I’m telling you!”

“I’m not a mama hen!”

“Well, you’re gay then,” Cartman smiled.

“Shut up, fatass!” Kyle snorted.

“Make me, Jew.”

“Don’t make me come over there,” Kyle threatened, finger pointed, nostrils flaring.

Cartman, being the black hole that he is, took the opportunity to drain the life out of Kyle with a single sentence, “I’d like to see you try. But, you know, you can’t.” 

With a haughty smug grin on his face, Cartman gestured towards Kyle’s foot with smug emphasis.

Stan was the only one to notice when Kyle started tapping his uninjured foot with great strain and intensity. He punched a pillow next to him, and then continued to threaten Eric with his outstretched finger, “You need to shut up, Cartman. This is my house, not yours, and you need to-”

“-Jesus Christ, calm down. Oh wait, I’m sorry. I forgot that this is a Jesus-free household.”

Considering the high tension, the insistent beating of Kyle’s foot, and Cartman’s inability to take a goddamn hint, total warfare should have already broken out. By now, it would have made sense for Kyle’s face to be just as red as his hair, colored in fury, as he jumped on top of Cartman to throw a few punches.

Instead, Stan was surprised to see that Kyle’s face wasn’t red at all. It was pale again. He looked ghastly. And with his scowl and his sad, green eyes, he looked like he was on his last stand.

“Shut the fuck up, Cartman,” Kyle spat.

Stan clenched his fists, ready to defend his friend if he had to.

But then something miraculous happened.

“I’m gonna go get some grub,” Cartman said nonchalantly.

Kyle choked a little bit. The tapping of his foot sped up considerably. He was trembling with so much rage that Stan could almost see it vibrating off of his skin.

It was a dumb sentence, and a faulty reaction on Kyle’s part. But it really was miraculous what Eric did, and Stan saw it. He may have been the only one to see it, but he could easily see the regretful expression in Eric’s eyes just before he left for the kitchen. For the first time in that dastardly villainous kid’s life he noticed when he pressed buttons on the wrong day. He was aware of the circumstance and he stopped himself before he crossed the line. 

Stan could hardly believe it.

It wasn’t worth explaining to Kyle, because he was already so angry that literally anything with Cartman’s name in it would make him explode. Nor was it worth telling Kenny about Eric’s moment because, frankly, Stan felt like Kenny wouldn’t believe him. That meant that Eric’s sincerity was Stan’s secret.

What a strange feeling.

“Wanna play Animal Crossing?” Kenny asked, sitting with his legs crossed on the floor like a five year old. The ambiguity of his statement gave Stan the impression that he was trying to lighten the mood for everyone; either that, or he was just being his usual dumb self.

“No,” Kyle answered.

“Well, what do you want to do then?”

“I wanna get my body fixed,” Kyle replied, staring with dead eyes at a little hole in the wall.

Stan tilted his head to the side and gaped, “What does that mean, Kyle?”

“Exactly what you think it means,” he snapped back.

“Animal Crossing then,” Kenny butted in. He approached Kyle’s gaming tablets to set up the game.

Stan frowned. ‘Exactly what he thinks it means?’ Damn. He sure hoped not.


	4. Chapter 4

Cartman, Kenny, Kyle, and Stan spent the rest of the day like all kids out of school would. They told insane stories, played tedious word games, engaged in highly stressful video game competitions, guzzled down on far more food than they needed, and distributed the nature of what used to be a cleanly and peaceful household. And of course, they were streaming and posting videos and pictures all the while so their friends and enemies at school could envy their day off.

The only thing that they wished they could do but couldn’t was go play outside.

That was only a little bit laughable. “Play outside” is such a childlike phrase, something a four year old would say with the intention of playing hide-and-seek. But in their case, “play outside” meant world war roleplay, dangerous parkour, vandalism of all kinds, and deathly passionate snowball fights that could kill a man.

These events sounded dangerous, but honestly they were the kinds of things that made life as a teenager so wonderful. These were like the last childhood games they could play before they had to conform to the life of adulthood, so it was a necessity that they had a little bit of fun, extreme as it may be.

But unfortunately, playing outside was not permitted today, and it most likely will not be permitted for another few weeks because of Kyle’s ankle.

That didn’t bother Stan at all. He would much rather prefer that they stay bundled up safe and warm than exert energy and effort outside only to have Kyle hurt himself again. As a matter of fact, Stan never enjoyed playing outside as much as the other guys because he was always too worried about something bad happening.

This was stupidly ironic. Stan was the star high school quarterback who made his school famous nationwide for goodness’ sake! He risked breaking every bone in his body every single game night without fear or hesitation.

It was only different when it was with the guys because it was with  _ Kyle,  _ too. Stan knew Kyle was tough as nails and he was a very capable human being, but something about the thought of him getting hurt just terrified him. The guys often didn’t know when to stop if they ever tread on threatening grounds. They did so many dangerous things, things that could easily break a few bones, but that never stopped Cartman or Kenny from taking it to the next level and pushing even harder because of their competitive spirit.

What was really scary, though, was that Kyle was just as competitive. He was as stubborn as a mule and never went down without a nail and tooth fight. It always scared Stan when he had to watch Kyle act like this; Kyle was so little compared to the other guys, he was almost always bound to lose.

In truth, Kyle was taller than Eric, who stopped growing after about fifteen years old because he had put on so much weight and muscle. But that was the problem; Eric was heavy and strong. Kyle may be half an inch taller than Cartman, but Kyle also weighed probably one hundred pounds less than him, which was a major disadvantage in their brutal games. 

It could also be argued that Kyle was not necessarily in danger when compared to Kenny either. Kenny was the tallest of them all at a towering 6 foot 4 and a half inches, but he was really lanky and slender and that kind of physicality didn’t necessarily pose a major threat. But Stan knew that Kenny wasn’t just a stick, he was quick and agile and could easily take someone down in a fight, even Kyle.

Stan didn’t mean to demean his best friend by worrying about him all the time, he really didn’t. He had faith that Kyle was strong and could endure just about anything, but that didn’t mean Stan wasn’t allowed to fret over him. Stan cherished Kyle, it was only natural his well-being unsettled him.

That’s why it didn’t bother Stan when they decided they wouldn’t play outside today.

But that’s also why they didn’t go outside--Kyle’s injury- that  _ did _ bother Stan. Tremendously.

But luckily the games and nonsense that spewed out of the gang’s being together managed to distract Stan enough. He even participated in the goofing off a bit, something he rarely did because it tended to exhaust him. But he, Kyle, Kenny, and Eric pushed past the exaltation their presence caused and made an effort to just enjoy the day and the company.

Kyle even perked up a bit after the incident he had with Cartman earlier on. They didn’t apologize to each other--at least, not from what Stan noticed- but they seemed to pretend that the skirmish didn’t even occur. Kyle wasn’t twitching with repressed rage, and Cartman wasn’t trying to get a rise out of him. They partook in the merriment with the same enthusiasm that Kenny and Stan did.

It was altogether a day well spent. They were having so much fun that Stan didn’t notice the car pulling into the driveway.

Kyle didn’t notice either, but he did manage to hear the front door unlocking and opening and people shuffling in. He struggled to shush his friends, who were in the middle of a freestyle rap competition.

“Shut up!” he hissed. He tossed his head over his shoulder toward the door of the living room and called out, “Hello? Is somebody home?”

_ “Just me and your brother, bubby!”  _ shouted Sheila from downstairs.

Stan secretly smiled to himself, knowing that Kyle’s father wasn’t here. Fortunately for him, no one noticed.

Kyle pulled a face, scrunching his nose and raising his eyebrows as he addressed his friends, “Seriously? What time is it?”

Cartman read off his watch, “Like sixteen o’clock.”

“In  _ American  _ time, you Germany-obsessed jerk.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault every other country in the world accepts that the 24 hour system is far superior. It’s the supreme form of time telling. I can’t help it if America doesn’t want to accept it. Take that out with the government, not me, you Jew,” Cartman fired back.

Kyle didn’t break his stare.

Stan intervened, “About four in the afternoon. School’s over by now.”

Kenny’s bright blue eyes flew wide open, “Nah, man. That’s insane. It feels like it’s been five minutes.”

“If it’s been that long, I need to eat,” Eric groaned.

“As if you of all people need any more food, Cartman.”

Stan laughed and shook his head, “Hey, don’t fight. I can run down to the kitchen and get something.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that-” Kyle started.

Eric cut him off, “-Yes, he does. Fetch us food. Go on.”

Stan obliged and made for the door before he stopped and turned around, “How’s your blood sugar, Kyle? Need anything?”

Kenny rolled back on the floor, hugging his knees and laughing, “Mama hen! Right there! Don’t deny it, Stan, you are a mama hen!”

“I’m fine, Stan,” Kyle muttered, embarrassed.

Kenny was still laughing, “Dude, get  _ out  _ of here! Get us some food, like Cartman said.”

“Your wish is my command,” and with that, Stan headed out of the living room and down the stairs to the kitchen with a bounce in his step.

The reason why Stan was so quick to take up going downstairs was because he had hoped he would get the opportunity to talk with Sheila again. He wanted to know where she went earlier, but even more importantly, he wanted to talk to her about her husband’s behavior.

Stan’s own father was an abusive alcoholic. Or at least, he used to be. It depended on what way you looked at it. When Stan was a kid, his father was infamous for his crazy stunts and his belligerence on the town. But some time after Stan’s sister, Shelley, left for college, it must have occured to Randy Marsh that he was not the best father. It took his oldest child leaving home for him to realize that he needed to change for the better; at the time, Stan was maybe twelve or thirteen years old.

Randy was not completely recovered, and Stan of course understood that. It warmed his heart that his dad was at least trying, it really did. He wasn’t perfect, but in the last few years that Randy started recovering, Stan started learning more about who his father really was, and it was fascinating to him.

So Stan had the theory that if his own dad was bettering, maybe Kyle’s dad could, too.

Stan could feel his guts tighten when he realized that Sheila wasn’t in the kitchen. His heart sank, and his head hung low. He instead walked in on Kyle’s younger brother, Ike.

Though he didn’t see him, because Ike was hidden behind the open fridge door. He was completely blocked except for a few inches from his feet to his calves. The only reason why Stan knew it was Ike was because he could clearly see that the ends of Ike’s pants rose a good several inches above the ankles; and laughably so. Stan was aware that Ike was going through a major growth spurt, so much so that the Broflovski’s were buying new clothes for him every two weeks. It seemed as if his pants were out of date, the way they clung so high up.He was already taller than Kyle, and he seemed to be just a few inches shorter than Stan.

When the fridge door closed, Ike was revealed, sipping from a soda of an unnaturally green color. He locked eyes with Stan and brought the drink away from his lips.

“Hello, Marsh,” he said monotonously.

“Hi, Ike. How you doing, buddy?”

“Doing well, thank you.”

Ike was so odd. He was so well spoken, articulate, and direct. And Stan loved it.

“How’s school going?” Stan inquired, leaning against the kitchen countertop.

“Well enough,” Ike shrugged, “I predict we won’t attend for much longer, considering the pandemic sweeping the nation.”

“Yeah, for real.”

Ike mimicked Stan’s position, leaning against the countertop. He crossed his arms across his chest, the soda held upright, as he spoke, “So I hear you stayed home with Kyle today.”

Stan tensed a little. He had no idea where Ike was going with this, “Uh, yeah. I figured he could use a friend.”

“Good man,” Ike said.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief.

Ike went on, “You made the right call. I asked my mom if I could stay with him but she told me no. I wonder why she didn’t let me but let you.”

Stan tensed up again. Was Ike envious?

Stan tried to maintain a sense of compromise as he spoke, “Well, I was the one to make the decision to show up on her doorstep. It could have been against her will. I’m not sure. She’s not my parent, it’s not like she controls me like she does you and Kyle.”

Ike sneered, “My mom doesn’t control me.”

“Well, well I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean she  _ controls  _ you, I-” Stan stammered.

“-You are right about Kyle, though. One hundred percent she controls him. The poor guy,” Ike took a sip from his soda, switching the arms he had crossed as he went on, “So I really do think it’s beneficial you came over to comfort him. I’m certain he must be having a rough time right now.”

Stan blinked, “Why does she control Kyle but not you?”

Ike’s eyes flew wide open. He didn’t move though. He remained as still as a statue, piercing Stan with his dark eyes. He hesitated before he said, “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“I’m sorry, Marsh. I thought my brother would have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“It’s not my secret to tell.”

Suddenly, Stan flashed back to the moment he had earlier with Kyle in the bathroom. Stan had just seen Kyle’s injured, bruised, and gruesome back and it nearly brought him to tears. Stan had suggested that Kyle ask his mom to let the doctor examine him, after she forbade every single doctor from laying hands on his bare skin. Kyle had opened his mouth. He was about to say something, and from the broken expression he had had in his eyes, Stan knew it was something serious. But then Kyle stopped himself before he got a full sentence out. Stan had practically begged him to continue speaking, but Kyle refused.

Stan had felt so awful afterwards. He had felt like he was violating something sacred to his super best friend. It made it all the more worse that Kyle was so uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Stan now wondered if Kyle was going to tell him that “secret” just then.

He cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. He scrambled for something to say, “You’re, uh, you’re getting tall.”

“I know. That’s what they all say,” Ike said back in his usual nonchalant tone.

Stan stood there awkwardly. He patted his hands against his sides, still avoiding looking in Ike’s general direction. Being ill at ease in front of somebody was tediously embarrassing enough as it was; but being ill at ease in front of Kyle’s little brother, the famous kid genius with the dead stare, was horribly tense.

Ike remained in the same relaxed posture, but staring right through Stan with those intimidating, bloodcurdling, obscure eyes. Stan was going to challenge himself to make more small talk, when Ike caught him by surprise by initiating conversation. Not only that, but starting with an eerily direct question.  _ Eerily  _ direct, “So Marsh, be honest with me. Are you dating my brother?”

Stan fell back into the counter, “Um, no!”

“Are you sure?” the haunting eyes didn’t relinquish.

“Yes, I’m positive! I am not dating your brother! We’re best friends.”

“Okay,” Ike said, then went on to sip from his soda.

“‘Okay?’ That’s it?” Stan charged.

“What?”

“I don’t know, just the way you were talking,” Stan started, flailing his arms around, “You were, like, interrogating me. I thought you were preparing to stab me or something.”

“Well, if you say that you’re not dating my brother, then I believe you,” Ike shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just scared the shit out of Stan at all, “I know you wouldn’t lie to me. I know because I’m sure you’re aware of my… capabilities.”

Yes. Stan was aware. Ike was the same kid who was involved in a heist among presidential candidates before he even entered high school. In terms of resources, connections, and threats, Ike was as terrifying as Eric Cartman. He was evil by no means; in truth, Ike was a saint. But he was powerfully good, and had the potential to wipe out an entire city to support his goals.

God, this was so weird. Was this weird? It was at least a little bit weird. Not weird compared to the other insane shenanigans that go on around town. But still. It was weird, for Stan at least.

Stan coughed, “Yes, yes I’m aware. I’m not lying to you.”

“Good,” Ike said calmly.

As he stood there, looking at his best friend’s little brother, Stan couldn’t help but notice that Ike was starting to look like his dad. Stan was aware that Ike was adopted, of course. He had no biological ties to his family. But somehow, his obscure, penetrating eyes almost exactly resembled that of Gerald Broflovski’s.

After he made this connection, Stan remembered the thing he wanted to ask Sheila, how he desperately wanted to know more about the uncanny encounter he had with her husband earlier that day. Just thinking about how aberrant and chilling the meeting was sent a chill down his spine.

Stan cleared his throat before he dared to ask, “So, Ike, do you know what your dad was doing here earlier?”

Ike quirked an eyebrow, “What are you talking about?”

Stan forced a shrug, doing his best to play off his scrutiny, “I don’t know. I was just here earlier, getting some snacks for Kyle, and your dad was here.”

Ike looked like he had been slapped across the face. Stan felt a little guilty, though he didn’t know what for; he hadn’t done anything wrong, he had only asked a simple question.

“My family only owns one car,” Ike said, expression alarmingly hollow, “My dad takes it to work with him every day. He doesn’t ever drive it home unless my mom needs to go somewhere.”

“Did your mom go anywhere today?” Stan asked. He started to feel like he was playing detective, like he was interrogating this poor victim with intimidation. A basic, honest inquiry should never conjure such dark fantasies. Maybe it wasn’t such a basic, honest question. Maybe Stan was walking himself into trouble.

“No,” Ike answered. Stan could tell that Ike was starting to feel just as concerned about their discussion. Though, in truth, Ike was not quite the ‘poor victim’ Stan’s imagination made him out to be; he was instead an equally interested compliant as he spoke, “No, she didn’t. Besides walking me home from the bus stop like she does every day, that’s it.”

“Where is she now?”

“On the toilet.”

“Oh.”

Ike displayed profound engrossment in the discussion, “But you said my dad was here today?”

“Yes… he was.”

“Hm. That is odd, isn’t it?”

“I’m telling the truth,” Stan said to defend himself; Ike was so expressive in his eyes, but so nonchalant in every other aspect of his being. He was so aware and present with his reserve that it was impossible for Stan to calculate what Ike was thinking. He honestly thought the kid was standing there, judging and disbelieving everything Stan had to offer.

“I know you’re telling the truth,” Ike took a sip of his soda, “Like I said, I know you wouldn’t lie to me. It’s just so… weird. My dad’s not been acting himself lately, and I feel like Kyle’s accident maybe pushed him a little too far. It’s unnerving to admit that… that I don’t know what he’s capable of doing.”

The last part of what Ike said was a confession. He might not have spelled it out, but Stan knew. And he treated it with respect.

Ike was perhaps the most intellectual individual in the entire town, and most everyone took great pride in his accomplishments. To admit that he, the famous kid genius, was having to face that he  _ didn’t know _ something must have been heartbreaking.

If it was, Ike didn’t show it. Stan could only guess it was heartbreaking.

“Okay,” Stan said, “Maybe, um… Maybe this is all in our heads, you know? Like maybe, we’re freaking out over nothing-”

“-No,” Ike cut him off, shaking his head. There was no malice in his tone, “No, there’s something else. I don’t know what it is. But something’s coming. Something bad.”

What Ike was saying had to be true. He didn’t lie, not ever. And he was right about every prediction he ever made. That could only mean…

Stan took in a breath to steady his thoughts. He couldn’t spiral, not now.

“Okay,” Stan said, starting to assert himself, “Tell you what, Ike. Everything’s going to be fine. You and I, we’re teaming up, we’re gonna figure this out together, okay?”

“Who said my father’s affairs are a pas de deux?”

Stan blinked, “A ‘paw da what?’”

Ike rolled his eyes,  _ “Pas de deux. _ French. Noun. A dance for two people. A metaphor. I just want to know why you’re so insistent on fixing my family’s troubles, Marsh.”

“Because I love Kyle,” Stan answered, like it was the stupidest question in the world. And really, it  _ was _ , “Something’s going on in your family, that’s putting my best friend in danger. I’m not going to risk that.”

Ike smiled, a sight as rare as Halley’s Comet, “Good man,” he said once more, and from the eagerness in his grin, Stan knew he really meant it.

“Thank you.”

“Do you have my number, Marsh?” Ike asked, sipping again from his green soda.

“Uh, yeah I think so. Why?”

“We can conduct our own little research investigation. I’m unaware if it’s on my father, on my brother, or what, but we’re doing it on something.  _ Something’s  _ amiss here. As long as you have my number, we can keep each other updated on our theories, discoveries, and such.”

“What do you think we’re going to find?”

“I was going to ask you the same question, Marsh.”

For some reason, that sent a chill down Stan’s spine.

It was about time he headed back upstairs. He was sure his friends were probably resenting his prolonged absence by now. But before he left, Stan thought he might as well play a wild card and attempt to lighten the mood before he left.

“Why would you think I’m dating your brother?” he asked

“Come on, you say that like it’s not obvious. You know very well at least half the people in the whole town think it,” Ike smirked.

“Good point.”

“Rumor has it the high school yearbook council is going to put you two down for best couple.”

“What, seriously?! Why? Why can’t they just choose Tweak and Craig like they did last year?”

Ike shrugged. Setting his soda down on the counter, he slithered out of the room, pausing in the doorway to add: “It’s just something I heard through the grapevine, don’t believe it if you don’t want to,” before vanishing from Stan’s line of sight.

God, that kid was terrifying.

Ike was great, really. He just had a scary way of expressing his intelligence, and the way he protects his big brother, Kyle, is intimidating.

What was really scary, though, was the fact that Ike was just so damn good at protecting Kyle. That meant that if Ike had a hunch something was off, he had to be right.

Stan did his best to shrug off his chills as he opened the snack pantry. He picked out four packs of something, without even bothering to look at the labels, and headed back upstairs for the living room. He wasted enough time talking to the creepy kid already, he shouldn’t leave the guys waiting for much longer.

He walked in on Kenny and Eric crowding around Kyle’s cast, markers in hands and devilish expressions on their faces.

“Oh no,” Stan gulped, “You guys aren’t drawing dicks, are you?”

“I’m only drawing one,” Kenny smiled.

“I’m not,” Eric smirked, “I’m gonna cover the entire thing from top to bottom.”

Kyle rolled his head back and covered his face with a couch pillow. He groaned exaggeratedly, “Why does the world hate me so?”

“C’mon guys, be respectful,” Stan sighed, “Kyle’s mom is gonna see this.”

Kenny and Eric looked to each other, and then proceeded to draw more inappropriate images at rapid speed. Kyle and Stan shared a sigh as they watched their friends vandalise the cast. Stan’s drawing from earlier was perfectly intact, for which he was very grateful. However, his name was gone, and was instead replaced with a giant doodle of a missle hitting a school.

Kyle groaned, his eyes rolling back into his skull, “Guys, come on. It’s not even that funny!”

“It is!”

“It’s really not!”

“Oh, it is.”

Stan joined in, “It’s really not.”

“It is, though.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

Eric capped his marker and rolled back onto the carpet floor, “Damn it. With all this arguing, it’s really not that fun anymore.”

“See? It’s not that funny.”

“It  _ was, _ until you spoiled it.”

“It wasn’t funny to begin with.”

Kenny snorted, “Stan the Man, Kylie, don’t bother explaining funninness to Cartman. He wouldn’t know humor if it slapped him across the ass!”

Eric groaned, “What the hell are you talking about, McCormick? I’m funny.”

“You’re about as funny as women.”

“Women are funny, Kenny! So am I!”

“You are when you get all red in the face like that, Cartman!”

“I ought to slug you, McCormick!”

“Fatass!”

“Poor boy!”

Stan sighed to himself. His friends’ tediousness always seemed to exhaust him past his limits. Social interaction with anyone but Kyle was admittedly draining on its own, but with Kenny and Eric’s egos in a brawl? It was taxing.

“Stan, you okay?” Kyle asked, his small voice barely detectable under the others’ ceaseless squabbling. Even if he hadn’t been heard, though, Kyle wouldn’t have had to say anything at all. The pure worry in his big, green eyes was enough to say a thousand uneasy words, and Stan could understand them all.

He rubbed the back of his neck, reclaiming his spot on the couch next to his super best friend, “I guess I’m just tired.”

“Are you sick at all?” Kyle asked.

Stan couldn’t help himself; a small laugh escaped, “Kyle, you shouldn’t be worrying over me, I should be worrying over you. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine. But you, you’re not fine. So just relax and let me take care of you,” Stan assured. He produced the snack bags from the kitchen, splaying them out on his hands in front of Kyle like a display of jewels, “Pick your favorite.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

“Pick your favorite, Kyle.”

“Stan, I’m just not that hungry right now. Honest.”

Before Stan could deliver a rebuttal, Kenny and Eric snatched all four bags from his hands, clutching them to their chests and scuttling to the other end of the living room.

“He’s not, but we are,” Cartman sneered.

“I am  _ starving _ ,” Kenny complied, tearing into a snack bag and wolfing down on its contents.

“Yeah, food stamps could only feed you so much, huh, Kenny?” he insulted, eating from his own two bags of snacks.

Stan sighed again, watching his friends feast on unnecessary calories with unneeded brutality. It was crazy Stan still considered them “friends.” It was at times like these that Stan tended to forget their better sides.

He rested his head down on Kyle’s shoulder, making sure to lean towards the front and away from Kyle’s back.

Kyle turned to look at him, “You sure you’re okay?”

“I will be,” Stan answered honestly.

It was astounding how well in sync Kyle and Stan were. At the exact same moment, narrowed down to the precise fraction of a second, they turned to look each other in the eyes. Kyle looked like a wounded kitten, his expression crushed; Stan could even see that his big, green eyes were a little watery.

“What do you mean by that, Stan?” Kyle asked, voice faltering near the end.

As much as he wanted to, Stan didn’t break eye contact, “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Stan smiled. Even in moments of raw vulnerability, Kyle was as stubborn as an ass.

“I’m just real worried for you right now, Ky,” Stan answered, “That’s all.”

They held eye contact even longer, as if testing each other. Any sensible person would have broken it by now, but they held on until Kyle was the one to pull back and look away.

“You’re such a hopeless romantic,” Kyle muttered.

Stan punched him in the arm, “You wish.”

Eric moaned from the other side of the room, “Hey, lovebirds! Shut up! We’re trying to eat our snacks here!”

Stan sighed. Some things never changed.


	5. Chapter 5

Would Stan be an asshole if he said that he became the happiest man alive as soon as Kenny and Eric left?

Yeah, sort of. That was a pretty dick thing to say. Luckily, it wasn’t entirely true. Not really anyway.

The sky was darkening outside. It wasn’t yet nighttime, so there were enchanting shades of twilight glittering the outside surroundings. Yellow street lights turned on one by one along the road; it was too early for their brilliance to really show, but they still attracted insects, who scuttered and floated around in the light dazzlingly. It was too early for nocturnal animals to emerge and make their splendid sounds, but that was still an advantage nonetheless. The quiet meant that this handsome twilight could be admired in peace.

Unless you’re trapped inside with Kenny and Eric.

Stan liked to think that it was because he was more tuned in to nature that he started winding down along with the outside world. Just as the sky transfixed itself to twilight, he grew tired and quiet. Kyle was the same way.

Kenny and Eric, on the other hand, were more boisterous than a few minutes ago by tenfold. Apparently getting sugar rushes from the drinks and snacks, they were practically bouncing off the walls with their smart mouths and rowdy tussles. They even managed to knock over a small bookshelf in their fighting and tear a hole in the couch ottoman. Despite Kyle’s constant cursing and Stan’s exasperated pleas, they refused to pipe down.

It wasn’t until the Queen of the House, Sheila Broflovski, entered the living room that they actually quieted. She told them that their parents wanted them home early; it was a school night after all. Kenny pouted and grumbled to himself, meanwhile Eric feigned innocence until Kyle’s mom left the room. As soon as she did, he unleashed his true colors and talked shit about her for six minutes straight.

It took a while to actually get them out the door because they were just so insistent and pushy. But eventually, after some prodding, they finally left.

Stan sighed happily to himself, glorifying in the wonderful fact that it was just him and his best friend alone in the living room.

“You know,” he started, wrapping an arm around Kyle’s shoulders, “I love those two, I really do. They’re really good friends. But they are ultimately  _ exhausting _ .”

“They’re excruciating,” Kyle agreed.

“God, I’m sorry, Kyle,” Stan moaned, rubbing his free hand over his face, “I brought them over thinking they would try to make you feel better. Seems they did just the opposite.”

“Don’t go blaming yourself for anything, Stan. You’re not responsible for other people’s actions. Especially not theirs.”

“Yeah, but you look tired though,” Stan sighed.

“You always say that,” Kyle said smiling, almost like he was playing it off as a joke. If it were a joke, Stan didn’t pick up on it because it was true: Kyle always looked tired. Stan has tried countless times to talk to him about it, but Kyle just laughed it off every time. It wasn’t normal for Kyle to find things even remotely funny.

Kyle stretched out his arms in front of him, “To be honest, though, they did help. At least a little bit. They kept me entertained. I would’ve been bored out of my mind if none of you came to visit. All I have is the TV, but I don’t even have any good channels. My stupid frugal parents won’t waste their precious money on quality content. I don’t get how they’re willing to buy us half a mansion but they won’t even buy any good TV. No good channels, no streaming services, nothing. I don’t even have my phone!”

Stan gasped, not because what Kyle said was surprising, but because what he said just caught him so off guard. He slapped his hand to his forehead, “God, I’m an  _ idiot! _ You know what I forgot, Kyle?”

He unzipped his jacket to reach the inner pocket, pulling out a battered phone, cracks and dirt on its screen. He felt a little guilty handing it over to Kyle. The phone was destitute in its raggedness, when it had looked pristine only two days ago.

Now that he thought about it, Stan realized the same thing could be said about Kyle himself. Until the bus accident just yesterday, he was perfect in every sense of the word (to Stan at least). Then there was that drunk bus driver, and now Kyle’s trapped with a cast around his foot, medicine messing up his diabetic insulin system, and a nasty bruise consuming his entire backside. He was practically bed-bound because it seemed that even a little bit of physical exertion strained him.

And for Stan to sit there and see him like that was burdensome. Kyle was never the perfect picture of health, that was a given that Stan had to accept over the years. But he never thought he would have to face him like  _ this. _

Stan just had to remind himself that Kyle wasn’t dead. He could be dead right now. He really could. But he wasn’t. It was a miracle.

On the topic of miracles, one would have thought from Kyle’s enlightened visage that Stan just lassoed the moon and gifted it to him with a pretty pink bow. There was so much unadulterated stupor in his face that his eyes beamed and his mouth hung open. He was so delighted that Stan must have buoyed him to the top of the world.

“Dude!” Kyle exclaimed, “You got my phone?!”

“It’s literally just a phone, calm down,” Stan said, unable to hold back his smile, and secretly praying that Kyle never calmed down from being this happy.

“Still! You got my phone!” Kyle cheered, turning it over in his hands, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stan said, forcing a shrug.

“Do you think it still works?”

Honestly, Stan thought the thing was damaged beyond repair. But he could afford a little white lie for Kyle’s sake. He was almost never this happy. Stan couldn’t spoil it for the world, “Yes, I’m sure it still works. It just needs a good charge I think.”

“Awesome!” Kyle jumped, “Could you plug it up for me? I mean, I would, but I can’t- well- you see, the charger is all the way over there-”

“-Say no more,” Stan smiled, holding up his hand to silence Kyle. He found the charger laying just underneath a sweatshirt on the far side of the living room. He went to retrieve it with care, and proceeded to plug it into the wall in the outlet closest to his friend.

That seemed to be more than enough for Kyle. He was still beaming excessively, “Dude, thank you so much,” he breathed fervently.

“Chill out, man,” Stan said, suppressing laughter, “You’re acting like your entire life depends on that pho- Oh, wait. I forgot. You’re a teenager.”

Kyle puffed, “Okay, boomer.”

Stan’s jaw dropped, “You did  _ not _ just-”

“-I did.”

Stan launched himself onto the couch, “Dude! I’m gonna pummel you!”

Stan started throwing fake punches at Kyle, going through the correct motions but only gently touching his skin. This didn’t matter, though, because Kyle seemed just as determined to ward off Stan; he put up his arms in self defense and pushed away every single blow he could, both of them struggling to hold in laughter the entire time.

“No!” Kyle shrieked, catching Stan’s fist just before it made contact with his nose, “You can’t attack an invilad! That’s not PC!”

Stan launched another attack, throwing gentle punches all along Kyle’s abdomen, shouting out, “Actually, it would totally, one hundred percent be PC for me to attack you, because that means I’m treating you equally! Like, I give everyone an equal chance of being attacked! Giving you a smaller chance would be unfair! That’s not PC at all! How dare you pretend you’re better than everyone else?! I ought to call PC Principal!”

“No, don’t! I can’t stand another detention with that guy!” Kyle shouted in response, finally starting to let a few laughs escape.

Stan toppled back into the couch cushion behind him, laughing all the way. It would be much safer to stop before Kyle exerted too much of himself. Stan let himself lay back into the cushion, embracing its soft comfort. 

Kyle apparently didn’t get the memo that it was time to relax.

With a giant smirk smeared across his porcelain face, Kyle propped up both of his legs, the uninjured followed by the injured, on top of Stan’s legs, trapping him. He must have still been excited from his phone because Kyle was in a remarkably playful mood, grinning from ear to ear and smiling with his eyes, too.

Stan sighed and rolled his eyes, but his smile did not fade.

“So what?” he asked, cocking his head at Kyle, “You gonna trap me here forever?”

“Uh huh,” Kyle giggled.

“I’m quite fine with that, actually,” Stan admitted.

“Come on, dude, I’m trying to get a rise out of you!”

“But how can you? I’d actually love to live with you forever.”

“But you won’t be  _ living, _ will you? You’ll be trapped beneath the weight of my legs, unable to move for eternity!”

“Okay, let’s clear some things up,” Stan smiled, holding up one finger, “Number one, this ‘weight’ you speak of-” he lifted both of Kyle’s legs up in the air with ease, only using one hand- “it doesn’t exist. Number two, I think you’ve been watching way too many villian movies.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Kyle, you’re being ridiculous!” Stan exclaimed. He didn’t mean it as an insult. In honest truth, he loved seeing Kyle like this, all passionate and riled up. He was actually excited about something for once. He was letting himself have fun for the first time in a long time; and Stan loved it with his entire heart.

“I can’t help it!” Kyle shrieked, smiling gleefully, “I don’t know what’s up with me, dude! It must be my new meds or something, ‘cause I’m flipping out!”

“Kyle, don’t blame it on your meds,” Stan hurrahed, “You’re being happy! Just enjoy it!”

“Only if you enjoy it with me, you depressed son of a bitch!”

“I already am, asshole!”

Kyle then caught Stan completely off guard. He erupted into  _ howls _ ; wolf-like howls. He arched his back forward and called out to the sky on a long note.

Stan could have slapped himself right across the face when he realized that he was joining in. He howled too, both of them toward some imaginary moon plastered on the living room ceiling, unleashing their shared ecstasy and rapture on a sound. And what a strong sound it was! So open and free, but filled through and through with the delight of the moment. It made Stan’s heart swell in his chest, and he could feel the ends of his fingers shaking with the rush. It was all happening so fast, but wonderfully so.

_ “Kyle, what the fuck are you doing in there?” _

Everything came to a halt. The joy in the moment dropped so quickly that Stan nearly got whiplash. It was like in that split second, he could feel their imaginary moon fall from the ceiling and crush them.

The voice was too strong to be Sheila’s, and far too deep to be Ike’s. That meant the voice had to belong to-

“-Sorry, dad,” Kyle called sheepishly toward the door, face just about as red as his hair.

_ “You didn’t answer my question,” _ Gerald Broflovski’s voice was intimidating to say the least. And his tone was uncannily impatient.

“Just…” Kyle fumbled for a response, “Just, um, playing a game, I guess.”

_ “Kyle, is there someone in there with you?” _

“Just Stan, dad.”

To that, Kyle’s dad must have had no response. Stan didn’t hear another utterance out of him, but he did pick up on the sound of heavy footsteps walking away down the hall.

Stan was ready to laugh off the bizarre encounter until he saw the frown on his super best friend’s face. It was as if their little moment of joy hadn’t happened at all, like all the life was sucked out of him all over again. That was starting to become a familiar theme with Kyle, Stan realized. He bit his lips.

Kyle took his legs off of Stan’s and placed them down, sitting upright on the couch. He strained as he moved, grunting and sighing as if he were toting around three hundred pounds with a broken back. This was especially alarming for Stan, because as he pointed out just moments ago, Kyle’s legs weighed practically nothing. If just moving them a foot or two was strenuous for Kyle, that meant they had a long road ahead of them.

“Hey Kyle, you okay?” Stan asked earnestly.

“Yeah. Just tired,” Kyle muttered, “Ken and Cartman knocked me out, I guess.”

“Okay,” Stan said. (It  _ wasn’t _ okay, though.)

“Stan?”

“What can I do for you?”

“What time is it?”

Stan cleared his throat and glanced down at his wristwatch.

“Just after seven thirty,” he answered, “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

Kyle’s expression was upsettingly blank, “That means my dad’s been home for an hour now.”

Stan didn’t respond. Mostly because he didn’t think there was anything to respond to; Kyle’s statement was merely that: a statement. But there was a lot of weight to it, weight that managed to catch Stan’s attention. He was on the edge of his seat. He had an inkling that maybe Kyle was about to say something important, maybe it could be that  _ something _ Stan and Ike were discussing earlier.

He was disappointed when the next thing Kyle said was; “I think you should go home now.”

“Why?”

“It’s a school night, Stan. You have school tomorrow.”

“Nuh uh,” Stan said, crossing his legs to prove his point, “I’m not going to school tomorrow. I’m going to stay with you until you get better.”

“That’s stupid,” Kyle grunted. He lay back against his pillow and sighed heavily. Stan couldn’t help but notice how Kyle’s foot started tapping again. That’s how he knew he was on thin ice.

“It’s not stupid,” Stan said, chosing his words carefully, “I just want to keep you company, make sure you’re okay.”

“That’s not an excused absence, Stan.”

“Actually, I’m going to talk to PC principal about it,” Stan replied thoughtfully, “I think he’ll let me off the hook if I say it’s in the name of defying toxic masculinity. Besides, even if I end up being counted absent, I won’t care. I have absences to spare.”

“You’ll get summer school, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“But if you get summer school, we won’t get to spend summer break together,” Kyle said almost remorsefully. He looked defeated and small, like the awful thought of spending summer alone already embedded itself in Kyle’s soul.

Stan blew air out of his lips, “Good point.”

“You should go home now before it gets too late. You shouldn’t drive around in the dark.”

Stan forced a smile, “Look at that. Turns out you’re a mama hen, too.”

Kyle didn’t smile back. 

Stan did his best to not let his own smile falter. He grabbed his car keys from the side table and tucked them into his coat pocket, “Okay,” he said, “I guess I’m off.”

“‘kay,” was Kyle’s only response.

“If your phone works later, please call me, okay?” Stan added, fingers already brushing the silver door handle.

“‘kay.”

“Kyle, if you need anything, and I mean _ anything at all _ -”

“-Stan, if you don’t walk your ass out that door right now I am going to scream,” Kyle said this with a bite to his tone, but no malice. Stan couldn’t tell if he were earnest or just joking. Kyle went on, “Dude, come on. I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“Don’t be like that, Kyle,” Stan frowned, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. He did his best to maintain his composure, but Kyle was making it difficult.

Kyle bore the face of a boy whose guts were just ripped out of him. He struggled to keep his lips from quivering as he said, “Stan, dude, I’m sorry. I just- It’s been a hard day, and I-” his voice was letting out now, but he kept pushing, “-I don’t mean it’s been hard ‘cause of you. ‘Cause you made it so much better, really. I just- This is just a tough situation for me, I guess. I’m still getting used to it, and I just-”

It was tormenting Stan to witness his friend to strain over his own words. He seemed to be agonizing himself to not hurt Stan’s feelings, and for Stan, that was forlorn to watch. It made him feel guilty.

Swift as a rabbit, Stan rushed back to the couch and kneeled at Kyle’s side, “Hey,” he said on an exhale, “Hey, Kyle, chill out, dude. You’re fine. I promise. I get it if you want to be alone. Everybody needs to be alone sometimes.”

Kyle’s foot was tapping at an incredible pace now, shaking the fabric of the couch with its momentum. He shook his head apologetically, his red curls falling down over the sides of his face. He tore his gaze from Stan when he spoke, “It’s not that I just want to be alone. I just-” he sucked in a quick breath, “-I just don’t want you here right now.”

Stan was dismayed. He could practically feel his heart shrivel up inside of him, drying and withering away into dust. The dust was morbidly heavy in his chest, and weighed him down from the inside out.

“Did I do something wrong, Kyle?”

A tear slipped down Kyle’s cheek as he nervously laughed, laughing so loud it startled Stan. He continued to cry and laugh as he shook his head, “No way, Stan! Of course not! You didn’t do anything wrong, I swear. I swear to God. It’s not you.”

“Who is it, then?”

Kyle shook his head again, tears still leaking down his face in little ribbons, still smiling all the while, “Nobody, Stan, don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I’m going to worry about it, look at you,” Stan’s voice hitched. 

Most people would be incapable of recalling the last time Kyle cried; he practically never cried. Stan knew, though. Of course he knew. He had the date embedded in his memory forever. The last time Kyle cried was on January 10th, 2020 at 1:32 A.M., inside the school bathroom in the largest stall.

The high school was hosting a midnight dance to announce the valedictorian announcement of the year. The entire high school population was there, which was exceedingly surprising. Even the goth kids were there. Stan thought that it was a bit ridiculous to host such an important announcement in a tedious high school dance environment, but he didn’t complain, mostly because it was Wendy Testaburger who decided to host this party in the first place. She was class president and had a major influence on the student council, and she admittedly put a lot of time and effort into making it a worthwhile dance.

The dance was ocean-themed. Blue and green beaded lights adorned the bleachers and streamers made of blue lace hung from every corner. The lights were all blue, purple, and green, and shone brightly on adorable handmade origami fishes that hung from the ceiling. The setting was so elegant and peaceful, it really set Stan at ease at the time. (He had planned on not going at all. Just the thought of it initially exhausted him. It wasn’t until he found out that Kyle was going that he forced himself to dress well and drive over to the school; and the peaceful setting of the dance really helped brighten his experience.)

The serene scene was nice and all, but it directly juxtaposed the rambunctious music and rowdy dancers.

Stan and his clique had mostly stuck towards the back of the gym. Kenny got out there and broke out in sporadic dancing a few times, Eric went back and forth to the snacks table, but that was essentially the extent of their influence on the party. None of them were really there for the dancing. Kenny was there to have fun, Eric was there to terrorize some underclassmen, Kyle was there for the valedictorian announcement, and in all honesty, Stan was there hoping to get wasted.

That was an awful aspiration, but it was true. Stan’s house had been alcohol-free for a little over two years now, since his dad started his alcoholic recovery journey. Even the secret stash Stan used to keep in his bedroom was gone. The only opportunities in which he had access to drinking were at parties. So he ended up attending every single high school party ever hosted in his freshman through senior years. In turn, Stan miracuously became popular. He was already popular because he was the famous quarterback who put their high school on the map; but now he was popular because people were starting to get to know  _ him  _ personally, not his quarterback persona. He had a face everyone recognized, and even better, one that everyone wanted to see. He used this to an advantage; the more popular he was, the more parties he was able to attend, meaning the more drinks he could have.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any that night. That dance was chaperoned. Severely chaperoned.

Much like how the entire high school population was at the dance, the entire staff was at the dance. All the teachers, all the administrators, and the PC principal himself were all there, scrutinizing the kids with watchful eyes. That meant no alcohol, no juuling, no music with curse words, and even no “inappropriate” dance moves. It was annoying in every sense of the word. The party was meant to be a celebration, but was instead turned into a punishment.

So Stan’s clique meandered around the back of the gymnasium, in the dark out of the strobe lights, kicking around plastic cups and keeping each other company. They didn’t necessarily care about their discussions, they were just passing the time until the announcement was made so they could leave.

The announcement occurred at 1:30 A.M. on the dot. Stan could distinctly recall the buffering of the microphone in PC Principal's hand as he shushed the partygoers in his authoritative way, as well as the pushing and shuffling the same partygoers made to usurp themselves to the front of the gymnasium so they could get a good look. 

Stan remembered the way Kyle grabbed him by the crook of his arm and dragged him across the floor to join the crowd, Kenny and Eric groaning as they trailed behind. He further remembered the untampered excitement in Kyle’s eyes as they waited. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and practically quaking with anticipation. He was the happiest Stan had seen him in a long while.

That’s why it was so gut-wrenching when Wendy’s name was called for valedictorian.

Stan couldn’t even bring himself to clap for her, because the sheer horror on Kyle’s face made Stan feel like he was gutted in the stomach. He had worn the happiest smile Stan had ever witnessed mere seconds ago, and now his jaw hung open and his eyes were void of all liveliness.

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of hoots and hollers, but Stan could barely register the sound. It brushed over him like a slow wave, pulsing and delirious. He watched as Kyle turned away from the front and fought through the crowd to get away. He was like a little orange fish swimming upstream in tumultuous waves, dark and cascading, struggling against the current. Stan flew after him with ease, less concerned about the partygoers but more so about the little orange fish and how he could drown in the sea.

When Stan found himself free from the crowd’s grasp, he spotted Kyle on the other side of the gymnasium retreating to the men’s bathroom. He didn’t even stop to think when he dashed off after him, catching the bathroom door just before it closed. He perpetrated the room carefully, not entirely aware of what kind of scene he could be upsetting.

It wasn’t until he noticed the locked handicapped stall that he heard Kyle’s cries. It was the most awful sound Stan had ever heard in his life. It was as if all the sadness in the world merged together and embedded itself deep within his best friend. The cries were soft but angry, because they were filled with choking and gasping--like Kyle was trying to hold himself back. The sound was so quiet, but so momentous that it drowned out the party ruckus entirely. It echoed dismally in the small bathroom.

At the time, Stan hadn’t known what he was supposed to do. Of all the guys in his group, he was the most frequent crier, followed by Eric (who cried every time Kyle punched him, though he denied this fact  _ fervently _ ), then Kenny (who was just bored at the idea of crying), and then Kyle. He wasn’t a crier at all. In fact, Stan only ever remembered Kyle crying when they were little kids; and that was only if he ever got injured; it was never anything more. This was a completely alien situation Stan would have never predicted in a million years.

Looking back, Stan navigated the situation considerably well. But at the time, he felt like he was diffusing a bomb; he had absolutely no idea what to do, and he was hurting so much for his friend that he couldn’t think straight. He just performed on auto-pilot the whole time, saying and doing whatever impulses came to mind.

He had knocked on the stall door. 

“Kyle?”

His friend didn’t verbally respond, but he did knock back from the other side of the door.

Stan swallowed, “Kyle, dude. It’s okay. You’re salutatorian. That’s still… like… that’s astounding, Kyle. Salutatorian is astounding.”

Stan’s theory that Kyle was holding back in his crying must have been true, because he heard more choking sounds.

“Oh, Stan…” were the only audible words among Kyle’s tears.

“I’m serious, dude,” Stan said urgently, and he was, “Salutatorian is really good. You worked really hard.”

Kyle didn’t have a response. Stan could see him shift his feet awkwardly underneath the stall’s gap. 

Stan sighed, “I know you worked really hard, you’re probably disappointed.”

Stan detected a click. The stall door timidly opened, groaning slightly. Kyle was slouching, disheveled, with red eyes and a wet face. He clutched at the door, and sniffed when he admitted, “It’s not that I’m disappointed, Stan…”

“Well, what’s wrong, buddy?”

“...”

“Kyle?”

“...I’m going to get in trouble.”

Stan blinked, “I’m sorry, I don’t get what you’re trying to say, my dude.”

“I mean, I’m going to get in trouble,” Kyle sniffed again. His foot tapped against the tiled floor, the expensive leather shoe producing hollowed sounds.

“What, like grounded? Like, with your parents? You’re going to get in trouble with your parents? For getting salutatorian?” Stan’s jaw dropped. He could hardly comprehend what he was hearing.

Kyle just nodded his head. His foot tapped faster.

“Oh, Kyle,” Stan sighed. He rolled his head back and gazed up at the bathroom ceiling. It was worn and torn from kids’ vandalism over the years. Half-chewed pencils pierced it everywhere, and stale gum hung in obvious locations. On the ceiling Stan could also see little shimmers of the party lights’ reflection. Little dots of blue and green flitted across the ceiling delicately, bringing a sort of effervescent spirit to the otherwise dismal bathroom.

Stan watched a little blue dot skirt around the ceiling. He watched it circle, almost like it was waving a “hello” to him. He shook his head slowly, not prying his eyes from the tiny wonders he observed, “Kyle, I don’t think you’re going to get in trouble.”

“B-But my parents, they wanted-”

“-They just want you to succeed, Ky. I know you will. You’re going to be fine, better than fine actually.”

“How can you say that?” Kyle shook, but not with anger. Trembling in his heartache, he pushed the stall door open farther to approach Stan, “You don’t know that, do you? I mean, l-look at you, Stan. Y-You get in trouble all the time! How can you just stand there and tell me I’m not going to get in trouble?”

Stan finally tore his gaze away from the little sprites so he could cock an eyebrow at Kyle.

“That’s because I get C’s and I juul in class,” Stan stated.

Kyle couldn’t muster a response this time. He just hugged himself and stared down at the floor, biting his thin lower lip to hold it in place as he cried.

Stan could hardly take the sight. It just wasn’t like Kyle to not give a witty response. And to see him crying? Stan felt like he was on the verge of crying himself.

“Can I give you a hug, Kyle?”

Just as the words left his mouth, he stumbled back a little as Kyle threw himself at Stan’s torso. He was so light that Stan barely faltered when Kyle’s tiny ribcage was practically hurled against his own. He could feel Kyle’s birdlike arms wrap around his back, Kyle hiding his traumatized face in Stan’s broad shoulder.

Stan breathed. He delicately raised his own arms to hug Kyle back, resting them gently on his backside, where he could feel Kyle’s protruding spine, even underneath his nice dress suit. He lay his own head against Kyle’s, taking in the scent of his cologne and the tickle of his curly hair.

His heart was pounding unimaginably fast. And what was extraordinary was that he could feel Kyle’s heartbeat reverberating too, he could actually  _ feel  _ it hammering against his ribcage.

Stan’s heart wasn’t beating so quickly because he was nervous of the intimacy. In fact, he actually took great comfort holding his best friend so fondly, especially as he was helping him in a moment of grief. No, the actual reason why Stan’s heart pounded so unimaginably fast was because all of a sudden he felt  _ responsible. _

Kyle shared a genuinely visceral side of himself to Stan that night. It was personal. It was special. Stan had the responsibility to protect that. He had the responsibility to extract the sadness and guard it away from Kyle for as long as he possibly could. It was only fair. Stan had opened himself up to Kyle a dozen times or more, and Kyle was always there to make everything better again. It was Stan’s turn this time to look after him.

Stan later realized that it was this exact moment that spurred his obsession of protecting Kyle. Yes, by now he was aware it was an obsession, but he couldn’t help himself. After seeing his best friend like that, all crestfallen and vexed, the inclination to protect and serve was so eager that it consumed Stan. He couldn’t help it that he called Kyle three times a day, just to see if he would pick up. He couldn’t help it that he packed two sets of lunches and four sets of snacks for school every day, just to ensure Kyle was eating. He couldn’t help it if he forbade Kyle to date anyone, or even make new friends, he just didn’t want Kyle’s heart broken; Stan couldn’t see him cry like that again, not ever.

That’s why Stan could feel guilt devouring his guts away as Kyle cried on the couch in front of him.

Stan shuddered, “Of course I’m going to worry,” he repeated.

Kyle rubbed his nose against his sleeve, “You don’t need to worry-y. L-Look, I guess my medicine is just making me loopy. I d-don’t know why-y-y I’m crying.”

“I don’t know why you’re crying either,” Stan said softly. He shifted from kneeling to sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, “You were having so much fun just a little while ago. What happened?”

“Nothing!”

“Kyle…”

“Nothing, I swear,” Kyle wiped at his eyes this time. He was still sobbing, but he laughed through his tears again, “God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You were saying you don’t want me here,” Stan said as lightly as he could muster.

Kyle flushed, tears refusing to stop their flow, “I have nothing against you, Stan. I don’t mean anything bad! You know that.”

“I do know that. I’m just concerned as to why you said it,” Stan was navigating carefully now.

Kyle sniffed, “Do you mean ‘confused?’”

“No. I mean ‘concerned.’ I’m concerned as to why you want me to leave.”

“W-Well, you have school in the mo-orning, and I-”

“-Bullshit,” Stan called. He kept his voice low and his tone gentle, even as he called out the curse. He went on, “Kyle, just- just tell me why. Are you worried that… um. I don’t know. I don’t even know. Are you worried that something bad is going to happen?”

Kyle just nodded his head.

“Okay,” Stan nodded back; he was getting somewhere, it seemed, “Are you worried something bad’s going to happen to you?”

Stan was surprised when Kyle shook his head, no.

“Okay, so there’s that,” Stan sighed. He drummed his fingers in his lap as he tried to think of what the hell Kyle could possibly be so riled up over. He thought aloud, “You’re worried something bad’s going to happen. So something bad’s going to happen, but not to you… Wait. Oh, no. Kyle. Do you think… Do you think something bad’s going to happen to  _ me?” _

Kyle’s silence said a thousand words.

Stan’s stomach was already churning at this point, but now it was practically writhing inside of him.

“Oh, Ky. Why would you think something like that? Why would something bad happen to me? I’ve stayed at your house, like, a bajillion times already!”

When Kyle didn’t respond, Stan knew that he was burnt out. He wasn’t going to talk, or even comply, anymore. He was done. Kyle all of a sudden appeared to have aged ten years, so exhausted he was on the verge of collapsing, trails of wetness marking his face.

Stan could only hold his breath to restrain himself from speaking. He was aware he was probably already pushing Kyle; to do any more damage would be monstrous. He just stood up, gave Kyle’s pillow a little pat, and retreated back to the living room door.

“It’s okay,” he said as he was walking, “I’ll go home now. See? Look, I’m going. Everything is fine,” he opened the door, “Please text me when your phone works, okay?”

Kyle didn’t even nod.

Stan frowned.

“Rest up, buddy. You’ll be up and kicking in no time,” Stan said before he closed the living room door behind him.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, as Stan ambled down the hallway, he came face to face with Kyle’s creepy-ass little brother.

“Goddamn it,” Stan muttered under his breath, not even caring that Ike was right there in front of him to hear it.

Ike didn’t care, though, He bore his permanent blank expression as he asked, “Are you going home, Marsh?”

“Yes,” Stan answered through gritted teeth.

“That’s odd.”

“Why is that ‘odd?’” Stan sarcastically inquired, as if it were the single most important question to have ever been asked.

Again, Ike didn’t care, “I just figured Kyle would have invited you to spend the night.”

“So did I,” Stan admitted, feeling guilty, “He said that- See, he got all worked up all of a sudden. He’s really upset.”

Ike’s expression shifted to something of anxiety, “Are you telling the truth?”

“For real,” Stan grumbled. He shuffled his feet and looked at the ground when he said, “You should go check on him.”

“Yes, of course,” Ike said, already on his way to the living room, “I’ll text you later, Marsh.”

“About Kyle, or about our… investigation?” he couldn’t think of a more appropriate word.

Ike just stared, “Marsh, at this point, I am convinced that they are the same thing.”

“Oh.”

“Drive safe.”

“Thank you. You too.”

“...”

“Not ‘you too.’ Obviously. You’re not driving anywhere tonight. That’s not- I didn’t mean that.”

“I know. It’s okay, Marsh,” Ike stroked his chin, “But maybe you should ask if one of my parents would drive you home.”

Stan already knew that was an absolute no-go. If he said yes and Kyle’s dad drove him home, then he’d be trapped inside a vehicle with a mysterious adult who deliberately frightened him. Furthermore, if he said yes and Kyle’s mom drove him, that meant he was leaving Kyle at home with his father.

But Stan kept his worries to himself. He knew Ike was just trying to be polite.

“Sure, okay,” Stan said, and then made for the stairs. He passed through the hallway and into the kitchen, where he could see both Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski sipping wine and snacking from a plate of cheese and crackers together.

Stan stopped short, “Um. I just wanted to say thank you for having me over.”

Sheila smiled blissfully, “Stan, my dear. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re always welcome? We should give him a house key at this point, wouldn’t you say, dear?” she asked, elbowing her husband’s side.

He nodded, taking a grateful sip from his wine glass, “He’s certainly over often enough.”

“Um. Bye,” Stan said, waving.

“Oh, do you need me to drive you home, Stan? It’s dark outside,” Sheila said, her naturally loud voice making her pleasant offer sound more like a demand.

“No, that’s okay. I’m good at driving in the dark,” Stan said, “I’m used to it, actually. I usually drive to school real early, when it’s still dark out. For football practice.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind. I’d love to see your mother!”

“Oh, she’s not home right now,” Stan replied. He wasn’t lying either. He was all of a sudden strangely glad for his mother’s absence, “She’s visiting my sister at her college dorm. She won’t be back for another week or so.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, I’ll have to call her tomorrow and let her know I’m thinking of her.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”

“Look at me, I’m stalling you, and all you want is to go home. Poor thing. Drive safe now, Stan. And thank you again for the lovely flowers!”

“Any time, Mrs. Sheila,” Stan nodded. He gave an awkward wave to Gerald before he headed for the door. He made sure he closed it behind him before he unlocked his car and started the engine.

He frowned to himself as he buckled his seatbelt and turned up the radio. That was certainly not the ending of his day that he anticipated. He had hoped for just a fun day he could spend with his super best friend, just that. Why did that have to be too much to ask?

Stan cast a glance up at the living room window. He wanted to see Kyle one last time, but the blinds were drawn shut, and all he could see was the light coming through the window in little strips.

He sighed. He pulled out of the driveway and headed for home. Maybe he was just overthinking things. He should sleep on this; that was assuming Stan would fall asleep at all tonight. He probably wouldn’t. He didn’t often sleep well on nights that his anxiety spiked.

As he drove home, he couldn’t help but recall the memory he experienced earlier. The one at the midnight dance when Kyle came to him in a moment of vulnerability, and when Stan swore that he would never let him get hurt again.

He bit his lip. Had Stan failed already?


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Stan arrived home, there was nothing he wanted to do more than plop down on his undersized bed, blast some music, and FaceTime Kyle. The drive back to his home had been unforgiving; he had been less focused on the road and more prioritized on what the hell happened back at Kyle’s house. To say he was concerned would be an understatement. He was actually so absorbed in his own thoughts that he nearly hit a few mailboxes on the drive back home. On a straight road.

It was practically a miracle that Stan managed to pull into his driveway unharmed. He locked the car when he got out and approached his front door, surprised to find that it was unlocked. A little hesitantly, Stan opened the front door and kicked off his shoes before stepping inside.

“Hello?” he called, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Hey, Stanley,” called the voice of his father from the living room.

Stan took off his coat and draped it over a chair, but kept his hat on as he strode into the living room to see Randy Marsh slouching on the sofa, watching TV. He didn’t take the spot next to his dad, but instead opted to sit on the loveseat, “You know, Dad, it’s not safe to leave the door unlocked. You know our neighbors are absolutely insane.”

“Oh, they’re total nutjobs. I agree with you,” Randy laughed. He took a sip from a can of sparkling water--ever since Randy got off alcohol, he was always testing out alternative beverages to distract himself. He started with hard lemonade, but gradually found his way to sodas and then actual lemonade. Right now, flavored sparkling waters seemed to be his new go-to. 

At the current moment, he was nursing a lemon-lime sparkler. He took another sip before belching, “‘Scuse me. My apologies. Anyway, yeah I left the door open for you, Stanley. I didn’t know what time you were coming home.”

Stan’s jaw dropped, “Holy shit, Dad-” (grateful he was permitted to curse around his father) “-Did I forget to call you?”

“I didn’t even get a text, young man,” though Randy’s words had a general harshness to them, he wasn’t at all angry. Stan knew; he had seen his father angry dozens of times, Randy wasn’t even pissed off. If anything, he was concerned.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck apologetically, “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just been a tough day.”

“Do you want to talk about it, Stanley?”

Stan smiled, he couldn’t help it. Pretty much his entire childhood memories of his father were the times he screamed at grocery store clerks, or the bountiful times he was nearly arrested, or that time he literally bought a weed farm. (Thank God they moved back to town. The entire family hated that place. On some level, Stan was convinced his dad hated it too, at least a little bit.) So really communicating with his father was something only Stan got the liberty of experiencing recently. They never said more than two words to each other before Shelley went to college, but now, they had hour-long conversations almost every night. As it turns out, Randy was a remarkably good listener. Talking to him was like a dream come true for Stan.

“Yeah, I do,” Stan said. He smiled to himself when he watched his dad turn off the TV so he could focus on him. He couldn’t help but be at least a little proud.

“Well, what do you need to talk about, son? Is everything okay?”

“For starters, I didn’t go to school today.”

Randy just stroked his mustache and laughed a little, “Okay. And?”

“And Kyle was hit by a bus.”

Randy’s eyes went wide, “Please tell me you’re lying to get attention just like all the other kids your age.”

“I wish I were, Dad,” Stan sighed, “No, Kyle was actually hit by a bus yesterday. Apparently our bus driver was driving drunk and she hit a couple of kids walking home. Kyle was one of them, ‘cause he was walking to Leslie’s house.”

“Is he okay? You didn’t have to go to the hospital, did you?”

“Well, I didn’t have to go to the hospital, but I don’t really know if he’s okay,” Stan blew air out of his lips, “See, here’s the thing. He broke his ankle and has a cast around it. And, I’m just gonna go out on a limb here and say this-” he stopped, “But you can’t tell anyone okay, Dad?”

Randy put his hand over his heart, “I swear.”

“Not even mom, okay?”

Randy smirked, “Son, if I had a dollar for every thing I kept secret from your mom I’d be able to send you to college right now without any loans.”

Stan smiled, “Thanks. As I was saying, I’m pretty sure that Kyle’s family has some sort of agenda against medicine or something. I mean, they didn’t tell me that or anything. I’m just guessing. See, Kyle has this awful back injury. And I really mean awful. Like, a bruise all the way from his tailbone to the base of his neck, and it’s black and purple. It’s insane he can move at all.”

“That sounds terrible,” Randy frowned, taking a sip from his sparkling water, “I guess I’d understand why you’d take today off school. To help out a friend. That’s real generous of you actually. When I was your age, I only cut class to do dumb shit. You’re a good kid.”

Stan didn’t take the compliment. He was more concerned in his story, “That’s not the important thing. I feel like Kyle’s not getting the medical attention that he needs. I mean, I can’t exaggerate on how ugly that bruise was. He said something really weird, something about his mom not letting the doctors touch him or something. I don’t know if his parents are anti-vaxxers or what, but I’m just really scared for him.”

“You said something about the doctors not being allowed to touch him?”

“Yeah. He said his mom was real sensitive about people touching him in general. He said they weren’t even allowed to take off his shirt for a medical examination--the doctors, I mean.”

“Well,” Randy stroked his mustache, gazing onward as he thought, “I don’t mean to go around making assumptions about your best friend and his family, son, but I’m pretty damn sure that must mean something.”

“What? What ‘means something?’” Stan mimicked, crossing his legs as he sat.

“Come on,” Randy groaned, stretching his neck, “You’re the one in AP Psychology.”

Stan didn’t comprehend. He just shook his head.

Randy set the drink down on the floor and indicated his hand towards his son, “Stanley, did it ever cross your mind that Sheila Broflovski is a smart woman?”

Stan blinked, “Of course she’s smart. I know that. I’ve never disrespected her, if that’s what you’re accusing me of, Dad.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Randy sighed and lowered his voice, “Okay, look. She’s smart. The husband’s smart, too. Kyle’s smart. Their other son, the adopted one, isn’t he a government certified genius? I find it hard to believe that a well-educated family has an ‘agenda against medicine,’ as you said. So you gotta think to yourself, Stanley, that they chose to withhold medical attention for a _reason_ . It’s got to be something other than having an _agenda_.”

“Why else would they withhold medical attention? I mean, his back was just awful, Dad. It made me want to cry.”

Randy stretched, “They probably had several reasons. It’s not often bad things happen just because of one defining factor. Take that drunk bus driver, for instance. She hit the kids ‘cause she was drunk, she was drunk ‘cause something made her upset--I guess, I’m just guessing, and that thing made her upset because-- whatever that reason may be. Understand?”

Stan frowned, “Yeah, I guess. But why would they be opposed to something that would help him? I just- It really upsets me, Dad. I just don’t get why they would do that.”

“Maybe something happened to him.”

He said this so calmly that it was frightening. Stan could only gape in horror, “What did you say?”

Randy shrugged nonchalantly, “I mean, they’re awfully protective of him. You said they’re sensitive about people touching him. Maybe something happened to him.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed into slits, “What do you mean ‘something?’”

Randy didn’t even notice, “I dunno. Just ‘something.’”

“If _something_ happened to Kyle, he would tell me,” Stan growled. His nails were digging into the arms of his loveseat.

Just as the words left his mouth, Stan felt himself being lulled back to a memory. Earlier that day when Stan and Ike were talking in the kitchen, Ike brought something up, something about a secret. Kyle’s secret.

They were talking about how Sheila Broflovski controlled Kyle, and even Ike agreed it was a bit excessive. It caught Stan’s attention when Ike admitted that he wasn’t controlled at all, but his big brother was.

‘Why does she control Kyle but not you?’ Stan had asked.

Ike’s eyes had flown wide open. He hadn’t moved though. He was as still as a statue when he asked, ‘You don’t know, do you?’

‘Know what?’

‘I’m sorry, Marsh. I thought my brother would have told you.’

‘Told me what?’

‘It’s not my secret to tell.’

Stan’s head drooped. He let it sink low against his chest and he hugged himself, nails now piercing his arms instead of the loveseat, “Dad, do you think Kyle would keep a secret from me?”

Randy thought a moment before he answered, “There are different types of secrets, aren’t there? There are big ones, small ones, all with different weights.”

“Still though. I tell him literally everything. And I thought he told me everything, too. But now, I just… I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s a family secret, Stanley.”

“You think so?”

“Well, they all seem to be in on it, don’t they?”

“Hm.”

“Are you okay, Stanley?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“Sorry. It’s just a lot to take in, I guess.”

“It’s not like what I’m saying is one hundred percent true,” he turned back to the TV screen and pressed the power button on the remote, “In the past two years or so I learned I’m actually not right about everything all the time. Which sucks ass.”

“I know…” Stan sighed, “But still.”

The television was on again, some college football game playing live on the screen. But Randy ignored the game to give one final word to his son, “Stanley, even if he is keeping a secret, it’s not like your friendship with Kyle is going to change. All good relationships go through a rough bump or two. I mean, look at your mom and me,” Randy laughed.

Stan rolled his eyes, “You two almost got divorced like six times.”

“I know! It’s a miracle that woman still loves me,” he took a swig from his sparkling water, “I still love ‘er. We made it through in the end.”

Stan hummed. He got up from the loveseat, “Thanks, Dad.”

“You going somewhere? I thought you loved watching football.”

“I do. I just don’t wanna right now,” he called over his shoulder, already on his way toward the staircase, “I think I’m gonna call Kyle for a bit.”

“Son, you damn well shouldn’t go around spilling every word we just had-”

“-No, Dad, no way! I just want to check in on him! Honest!”

“Stanley. Wait a second.”

Stan groaned and stopped walking. He didn’t look back though.

“Yes, Dad?” he asked sarcastically.

“Though I appreciate what you did today, no more playing hooky. Go to school tomorrow.”

“But, Dad-”

“-I mean it. I don’t want you ending up as stupid and brash as I am.”

“Dad, you’re-”

_“-Stanley.”_

Stan did his best to suppress another groan. He raised his eyebrows angrily (grateful he was far enough for his dad to not see his face) and said through clenched teeth, “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

Stan was already out of the room, so he couldn’t see his father’s face, but he could rightly assume that his father was rolling his eyes. It didn’t matter to Stan, though. He knew that his dad had become familiar with Stan’s excessive Kyle-enthusiasm over the years; Stan wasn’t sure if Randy knew it was a full-on obsession, but he at least knew that his dad got used to it after a while. An entire lifetime of frequent playdates, hangouts, sleepovers, and late night calls certainly made an impression on his parents.

Stan shed his socks as he passed through his bedroom doorway and tossed them uncaringly on the floor. He threw himself down on his bed and lay comfortably, taking in the scent of his abode. He took the time to relish in the fact that he was alone safe in his own bedroom. There were few things quite as comforting as isolation in paradise. Stan hummed contently to himself as he reached for his phone from his pocket.

He frowned when he noticed that there were no new calls or texts from Kyle.

But there were plenty from Ike.

Stan groaned, unlocking his phone and opening the text app.

But he smiled after remembering the shitty contact name he gave Kyle’s creepy little brother. He could have laughed out loud right then and there, just seeing the name on the screen.

“🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁”

It wasn’t often that Stan chose to use nicknames for his contacts. Even Kyle’s contact name was just “Kyle Broflovski.” First name, last name, and everything. Stan couldn’t remember when the hell he decided to give _that_ name to his friend’s little brother but he couldn’t care about that less! It was dumb, but Stan thought it was _perfect_.

His happiness faltered a bit when he noticed the number of texts Ike sent him. Had Stan missed something important?

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **Hey marsh**

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **So K’s asleep rn so don’t spaz out if he doesn’t text you or anything. Mom gave him some meds & it knocked him out. he should be asleep for the rest of the night**

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **I was thinking a lot abt what you said earlier abt my dad. it's so weird he was home instead of work. like I’ve always had the feeling he was doing more than just working from 9 to 5 you know?**

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **I’m not accusing him of anything. my dad’s a great person; he really is. i just don’t trust him sometimes; especially not after that time he anonymously cyberbullied literally the entire town like wtf**

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **anyway i told my mom abt it @ dinner and she said this:** **“That’s okay, Ike. After he left for work this morning he called me saying he left some paperwork at home and that he needed to get it. I admit that I didn’t know he was home, he never said hello or anything, but he let me know that he was at his desk at work a few minutes later.”**

Stan frowned and sent a text back.

S.Marsh: **dude i thought she left the house or something. I had no idea where she was when your dad was home.**

Ike responded only a few seconds later.

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **idk man she might’ve been taking a crap or something. It's a big house. She could have been in another room & you wouldn’t even know she was there**

S.Marsh: **I guess that’s true.**

He waited a minute. And then added.

S.Marsh: **I did tell you he was drinking tho right?**

S.Marsh: **Also why is Kyle taking meds????**

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **my mom wouldn’t rly care if he was drinking or not. they both sort of drink a lot**

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **also of course K’s taking meds. why wouldn’t he?**

Stan felt his anxiety spike. His fingers were twitching fervently as he typed; he was constantly misspelling words and had to go back to correct them. But because he was typing so hecticly, he produced the response in a few seconds flat nonetheless.

S.Marsh: **dude** **wtf. You know his body doesnt respond well to meds. You KNOW that. WTF is WRONG w you???**

Stan had to wait an entire two minutes for Ike’s little response bubble to spawn on the screen. He wanted to prick it with a needle and kill it.

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **I’m not my brother’s keeper, marsh. It’s not like I made that decision for him. Make sure your own porch is clean b4 you sweep someone else’s. Like srsly. ...** **But stop worrying abt him when you’re away ok? I got him.**

Stan was about to type the most nasty and aggressive thing he had ever written in his life before he stopped himself. Ike did have a point. While Stan had notably looked out for Kyle longer, Ike spent more time with him on a consistent basis. It was a hard pill to swallow, but Stan had to (regretfully) admit that Ike had just as much influence in Kyle’s life as Stan did.

Stan grumbled. That stupid genius.

He was preparing to continue the conversation, when Ike sent another text message.

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **rn he’s on a few painkillers for his foot, as well as that nighttime pill he takes sometimes. He’s supposed to go to the dr soon to get some sort of med that’s going to aid his insulin pricks. ...** **I’m not rly sure how it all works yet. I’m planning to take the time to study the ingredients, effects, etc. so I understand how he’s ticking over. Don’t worry i’ve trained under a pharmacist b4. I’ll let you know when i know everything**

While Stan certainly appreciated the measures Ike was planning on going through for his own sanity, he couldn’t help but focus on his message’s negatives instead of its positives. He reread the top paragraph at least twenty times to test if he was reading it correctly. When he couldn’t figure it out, he asked.

S.Marsh: **nighttime pill??**

🥞👿Creepy Canadian👿🍁: **The one he always takes, dude**

This was becoming too much to process from only texts. Stan was morbidly confused and Ike wasn’t necessarily helping, he was providing excessive information but it was all just an information overload.

Stan grumbled to himself as he exited the texting app and opted for calling Ike instead. Ike picked up the phone in only a second. He was in the middle of delivering a greeting when Stan interrupted him.

“What’s this about a nighttime pill? I didn’t know he took sleep pills,” Stan said sourly. He lay on his bed with one arm crossed over his chest, the other one tightly pressing his phone to his ear.

_“No, Kyle doesn’t take any medication for sleeping,”_ Ike clarified from the other side of the phone. His tone gave no indication that he was surprised by Stan’s harshness whatsoever. He went on speaking calmly, _“It’s a short-term pill he takes for his anger issues. They help him calm down, but usually put him to sleep afterwards. It was my mom who started calling them ‘nighttime pills’ as a little joke, but the nickname caught on, I guess.”_

Stan was a little more relieved, but not greatly, “I didn’t know he took pills for anger management.”

_“It’s not a regular pill. Think of it like an Advil. You don’t take an Advil if you don’t have any aches or sores, you only take one when you need it.”_

“Oh, wait,” Stan exclaimed, pressing his hand to his forehead, “Wait, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know what you’re talking about. He keeps some handy in his gym bag at school in case there’s a fight or something.”

Stan didn’t tell Ike that he also possessed a stash of the medication. He kept them in his school backpack at all times; he didn’t even know if Kyle knew of this secret stash. Stan has never had to use any before, and he prayed he never would.

“Sorry I didn’t know what you were talking about,” Stan went on, “Kyle never calls them ‘nighttime’ pills around me. He calls them his ‘blue pills.’”

_“Yeah, I’d assume so. I’m sure he’s embarrassed about the nickname. We really ought to just call them his Prozac fluoxetines.”_

“Not everyone’s smart enough to use big words, Canadian,” Stan sighed, “I didn’t realize that Kyle was having an anger episode when I left. I mean, he was worked up, but I didn’t realize it was that.”

_“I don’t think it was an anger episode,”_ Ike said in a voice so smooth it sent a chill down Stan’s spine, _“I meant to ask you about that, by the way, Marsh. What happened? I’ve never seen my brother cry before.”_

“You’ve never-”

_“-I’ve known him my entire life, Marsh. I have never once witnessed him shed a single tear until today. What did you do to him?”_

Stan gaped, “You think that I-”

_“-You had to’ve done something. I’m waiting for an answer.”_

“I didn’t do anything to him! I even asked him about it! And he said-”

_“-Don’t you dare lie to me, Marsh. You know what’s going to happen if you lie to me,”_ Ike’s words were like blades of ice, sharp and chilling to the core.

Stan’s mouth hung open dumbly as he scrambled for something to say, “I don’t- I never- Ike, listen to me, I-”

_“-I understand you must not be in your best spirits at the moment. Just think about it, okay? Call me when you remember what happened clearly.”_

And with that, Ike hung up the phone, leaving Stan with the belligerent noise of the “end-call” sound ringing in his ear. He let the phone fall from his hands to the quilt under him, all of a sudden feeling like his extremities were too weak to hold anything at all. It was as if some giant pressure were depressing down on his chest, making all of his other limbs go numb under the weight of it all. He lay supinated, vulnerable, exposed to the magnitude of this burden.

Had Stan done something wrong?

Straining to think clearly under all the weight, he struggled to remember everything that happened before he left Kyle’s house. Kyle was behaving hyperactively. He and Stan were like little kids again, giggling over every little exciting thing and stirring up little agitations. They even broke out into howls. They were having fun, right? They were. Kyle had been so happy, and that had made Stan happy, too.

Then what happened?

Stan’s mind drew a blank. It usually did when he was depressed. Every time he came across a situation that overwhelmed him, he just stopped feeling. He went numb, emotionless, and dead. It scared him sometimes how remote he became; but he couldn’t worry about that now, he couldn’t worry at all because it was already happening to him.

He went soulless. He didn’t care.

Stan put his phone on his nightstand and tucked himself in under the quilt, daytime clothes and all, and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

  
  


Stan wasn’t ready for the tremendous blow he experienced the moment he woke up, especially because it wasn’t a bad blow at all.

Stan was woken just after two in the morning by the blaring of his phone on the nightstand beside him. It was actually quite incredible that he was able to fall asleep after he had that terrible moment of weakness, and even more incredible that he remained asleep for almost six hours. So one could imagine the frustration his phone woke him up.

The frustration melted away just as quickly as it came when Stan read the name of the caller on his screen. Kyle Broflovski was calling him.

It was only two in the morning and Stan’s head was pounding after that depression slop he just encountered, but none of that mattered. Stan had been convinced that Kyle’s phone wouldn’t work and that they couldn’t stay in contact, but he was wrong; and wonderfully so.

He swiped the screen and pressed the phone to his ear, rolling over on his stomach on the bed, “Hey, Kyle! Your phone’s working!”

_“Yeah, it’s awesome, isn’t it? I thought it was done for,”_ Kyle said from the other line.

“So what’re you doing?” Stan asked, accidentally starting to feel like a ditsy teenage girl calling her boyfriend.

_“Grabbing a snack.”_

“At two in the morning?”

_“It is what it is.”_

“It is what it is,” Stan repeated, a smile appearing on his face. Then it occurred to him, “Wait, Kyle. How did you get downstairs? I thought you couldn’t walk yet.”

_“Oh, Ike helped me,”_ Kyle replied, and for some reason it made Stan go stiff, _“He’s eating with me right now, actually. We’re having cereal. At two in the morning. I feel awesome.”_

“Oh.”

_“You okay?”_

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are _you_ okay?”

_“Sure,”_ Kyle answered, _“I’m as okay as I can be. Still in a cast. Still in pain. I’m alive, though.”_

Stan smiled to himself, “You’re alive,” he repeated.

_“Hey, Stan?”_ Kyle asked from the other side of the phone, not sounding like himself.

“Yeah?”

_“I just wanted to apologize for what happened before you left. I still don’t really know what it was. It could’ve been my new meds making me moody, but it just wouldn’t be fair to you if I blame it on them. I’m sorry.”_

Stan’s heart swelled, “Kyle, why are you apologizing? I was worried it was me who did something wrong, not you. You didn’t do anything wrong, I felt bad for you! Why are you apologizing?”

_“I put you in a weird situation, dude. I don’t know. I shouldn't have done that.”_

“Kyle, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were upset,” Stan reasoned. He took a breath before pursuing, “Am I allowed to ask what happened? Like, why were you upset?”

Kyle took too long to answer. Stan was worried he may have crossed the line, his heart pounding rapidly inside his ears.

Eventually Kyle gave an answer, but it wasn’t one that satisfied Stan.

_“You didn’t do anything wrong, either, Stan. I swear you’re in the clear.”_

“You said you were worried something bad would happen to me,” Stan was tumbling downhill now, but he couldn’t stop. The momentum of his anxiety kept pushing him forward, “Why would you say something like that?”

Stan didn’t hear a response, but he could detect several rustling sounds from the other side of the phone line. He bit his lip, heart still thumping like madness in his ear. It wasn’t until the rustling noises stopped that he heard a voice.

_“Marsh, you should stop talking to my brother,”_ Ike said coldly.

“Now wait just a minute, Ike, I was talking to him and we were-”

_“-He doesn’t want to talk right now.”_

“That’s not fair! We were talking! We were-”

_“-I said he doesn’t want to talk. Don’t call this number for the rest of the night.”_

And with that rule made, Ike hung up the phone call.

Stan could do nothing but stare ahead blankly, mouth agape. He had Kyle right where he wanted him, but then Ike took him away. Stan was only trying to help, only trying to show how much he cared. To have Ike just shut him out like that was infuriating.

But Stan couldn’t muster the energy to be infuriated. He was depressed and exhausted again, and the conversation just didn’t seem to matter anymore.

He sighed and set his phone back down on the nightstand. He let his gaze stare pointlessly at nothingness as he tried to find sleep; it never came.

* * *

Randy Marsh was unexpecting when his son drove off to school the next morning. Stan behaved the way he always did. He packed a massive, massive breakfast in a brown paper bag (partly because he was an athlete and he required a surplus of nutrients in the morning, and partly because he needed to ensure Kyle had some, too), made sure his homework was complete, and waved goodbye to his dad before he left the house. Stan was just thankful that he was always able to play a convincing role in front of his parents, he could get away with practically anything just by pretending everything was normal.

And that’s exactly how he was able to drive to Kyle’s house that morning, despite his father’s wishes.

Stan had driven loops around the neighborhood for a long, long time, secretly watching the house to ensure that Ike was gone and out of the picture. He wasn’t satisfied until he saw Ike’s school bus drive away with him in it; that was about an hour after Stan started driving loops.

He didn’t mind. Better safe than sorry. 

He parked in a spot down the street, locked his car, and jogged up to Kyle’s house, the icy wind biting his nose and making his face turn red. He huffed out as he ran, his breath emerging in clouds of frosty white. He didn’t stop running until he was at Kyle’s driveway, wearing a smile far bigger than it probably should be.

Then he saw something out of place, something that hadn’t been there on Stan’s last drive around the loop only two minutes ago. It was a sight that killed the joy in his smile in an instant.

Gerald Broflovski’s car was parked in the driveway.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning!  
> There is a bit of violence in this chapter. Sort of. A little bit. Not really. You just have to read to know what I mean :), but if it may be upsetting to you, I understand.
> 
> Let me know how I'm doing so far! And thank you to those of you who have already left comments, you really make my day!

Stan felt like he was navigating a minefield as he tiptoed down the hardwood hallway of the Broflovski household. There were no signs of life anywhere. Most of the lights were off, and the whole house was void of any sound. 

Admittedly, Stan wasn’t prepared for what he would walk in on, he really had no idea what to expect. He had never once found himself at Kyle’s house midday when his dad was home, so he was completely in the dark (both figuratively and literally) to his situation.

It scared him. He had always been scared of Gerald, even way back when he was a little kid. He was afraid of him in ways he couldn’t describe; he didn’t even know _why_ he was afraid of Gerald. Maybe it was because of the way he was always so distant from the rest of Kyle’s family, or because Gerald had those cold, dark eyes that pierced right through Stan. 

Or perhaps even Stan’s fear was due to the fact he had no idea what Gerald was capable of doing. His potential dangers were a mystery. Stan was never afraid of his own father, even in his drunk rages, because Stan was always aware of Randy’s capabilities--in other words, he was never afraid of his dad because he knew him well enough. He knew when Randy posed a threat and when he didn’t. Stan was always able to level the playing field that way, just by being aware. Even in football, Stan never made a move unless he had a clear vision of how he was going to navigate the defenses. He knew who to pass to versus who to avoid, because he was aware of the potential of his teammates. So in a sense, having knowledge was comforting to Stan; it helped him through just about every situation.

That’s why he was so lost today. He lacked all knowledge of Gerald, of the house’s state, and of Kyle’s current wellbeing. He was completely in the dark. It was scary.

He didn’t have an exact idea as to where Kyle would be, but his instinct told him that he had to be somewhere on the second floor. So with trepidation, Stan slowly but surely made his way up the stairs and down the hall. He peeked into the living room first, casting a glance around to find it empty. The lights were all off, but the television was on, drowning the whole room in bright light and static noise.

Stan shut the door, but didn’t close it completely, and then continued on down the hall to Kyle’s bedroom. He considered knocking, but thought better of it, deciding it would be best if he made no noise at all.

He turned the doorknob and stuck his head in the room. Stan felt immediate relief when his gaze softly landed on his super best friend, who was restfully curled up under a blanket with his eyes glued to his phone. Kyle looked up when he saw that the door was opened and a slight smile sprung on his face.

“Stan!” he exclaimed softly. His voice was barely above a whisper, but his excitement still carried, “What are you doing here?”

Stan felt like a tremendous weight was lifted from his chest when he saw that Kyle was in good spirits. After the agitated moment from last night, the frightening call after midnight, and the nerve-wrecking exploration of the unknown this morning, Stan was soothed by the dismissal of his worries. He had expected the worst, but welcomed the best. He smiled back.

“I wanted to see you,” Stan answered, “I was worried about you.”

“You always are,” Kyle said. The statement lacked any resentment or bite to it. He was a little embarrassed, Stan could tell, but not in an irritating way. Kyle was genuinely flattered; and if he was trying to hide that from Stan, he wasn’t doing a good job.

“Want to join?” Kyle called, patting a spot on the bed beside him.

“Always,” Stan said. He removed his shoes at the doorway and then sat down on the bed next to him. He indicated Kyle’s phone, “What were you doing before I got here?”

“Switching between things,” Kyle said. He shifted his position to give Stan more room, favoring his back and ankle, “Alternating between watching ‘Terrence and Philip’ and texting Ike.”

Stan stifled a groan, “What does Ike want?”

“He wanted to know if you were here,” Kyle held in a laugh, “And I told him ‘no,’ because when he asked that thirty seconds ago, I didn’t know you were.”

“What’s his problem, anyway? He’s always on my case,” Stan let the groan escape him now.

“I don’t know, man. You two always act like you have beef or something.”

“He scares me.”

“Come on. He’s fourteen.”

“Yeah. And he’s terrifying.”

“He’s not terrifying.”

“Oh, yes he is. Doesn’t he have an IQ of like 165? Something higher than that? That’s terrifying. And not to mention those _eyes,_ dude. It’s like he’s staring into my soul.”

Kyle laughed, “I don’t know if you know this or not, but he speaks about you the same way.”

Stan’s eyes flew wide open, “What? No way, dude!”

“Yes! I mean, he doesn’t say he’s ‘terrified’ of you. I’m sure he’s not afraid of you. But he’s always going on about how he doesn’t trust you, and how you’re like some sort of towering beast of muscle, and weird stuff like that.”

Stan frowned, “Dude, that’s weak.”

“I think it’s funny.”

“Why doesn’t he trust me?”

Kyle tilted his head to the side, “I’m sure he was only kidding, Stan.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

Stan winced, “Damn.”

Kyle shook his head, smirking, “I’m telling you, the two of you have the weirdest relationship I’ve ever seen. I really don’t get it. You guys act like…” he stopped for a moment, and then laughed, “I don’t even know what I can compare it to! You guys are hilarious. Never change. Please. I’m begging you.”

A similar smile played on Stan’s lips, “Well as long as it makes you happy, sure. I’ll put up with that maple-loving Canadian. What’s the harm?”

“I won’t tell him you’re here if you don’t want me to,” Kyle said. He said it calmly, but it still managed to catch Stan off guard. He just wasn’t expecting it.

“Why would you not tell him?”

“I don’t know. You’re just giving me the idea that you don’t want him to know you’re here,” Kyle shrugged, “Besides, he doesn’t need to know everything. He’s not my mom or my dad.”

“Oh, about your dad,” Stan said delicately. He shifted his position on the bed uncomfortably, “Um. I was just wondering why your dad’s car is in the driveway.”

“He’s watching me today,” Kyle said with an odd tone that Stan couldn’t dissect. Before Stan could question, Kyle went on, “My mom has to go to some sort of parent-teacher meeting with Ike’s school today and she didn’t want to leave me home alone while I can’t walk or whatever. I’m sure she would have let me just stay here with you if she knew you were coming.”

“Why are all the lights off? Is he sleeping or something?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t left my room.”

For some reason, that line carried a lot of weight with it.

“Not even for breakfast?” Stan asked.

Kyle huffed, “You know I hate breakfast. I always feel dizzy afterwards. I try not to eat it.”

“That’s because you’re eating the wrong things, dude!” Stan exclaimed. He adjusted his sitting so that he was on his knees on the bed, “You especially need breakfast, dude. You’re diabetic.”

“But I don’t like breakfast. Besides, I’m not diabetic like, say, Scott’s diabetic. I’m not that bad.”

“I don’t care. You are diabetic. You are a human being. You need breakfast. Breakfast is _essential_ . Especially the right type of breakfast. Whether you’re trying to lose weight, gain weight, be healthy, whatever, you _have_ to eat breakfast. Like, I’m not even kidding. You need breakfast.”

Kyle smirked, “You’re always so passionate about nutrition. It’s almost comical.”

“I’m an athlete, dude. I need to know what I’m putting into my body,” Stan took a moment to realize that what he said tied into his theory earlier, his theory that knowing things was a comfort, that being aware of his circumstance was a comfort. It had to be true. He definitely took comfort in knowing the contents of his meals, especially how they affected his body. His theory certainly could be correct. He had all the reason to believe it was true.

Kyle pulled him out of his thoughts when he said, “And you wonder why so many athletes have eating disorders.”

Stan frowned, “I don’t wonder. I sort of get it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean they’re mental disorders, aren’t they? Been there, done that,” Stan admitted. It wasn’t a crime to discuss such heavy topics with his best friend. In honest truth, he talked about his mental issues with Kyle ten times more than he did with anyone else, even his parents, “I mean, with my depression and things, the mentality behind it makes sense to me. I get it. And I get why athletes fall victim to it.”

Kyle looked at him softly with his green eyes wide with understanding, “How are you doing, by the way? Depression-wise, I mean.”

“Actually, a lot better. Thanks.”

“That’s awesome, dude.”

“Yeah it is. Thanks. But for the record, eating disorders can happen to anyone. I’m just thankful that I was lucky enough to not get one.”

“Amen to that.”

“Hallelujah.”

“In Jesus name,” Kyle smirked.

Stan gaped, “Dude, you’re Jewish.”

“I know. You don’t need to remind me!”

Stan got up from the bed, “Well, now that we’ve said our prayers, let’s go eat breakfast together. I’ve already eaten, but I’m still hungry.”

“Of course you are.”

Stan picked up his shoes at the door, talking over his shoulder, “I know you already have food in your kitchen, but I also brought a bunch of food over. We could eat either stuff.”

“Of course you did,” Kyle said, standing up as well. He moved slowly and favored his foot, keeping it about an inch above the ground.

Stan watched him hobbling around with a careful eye. He seemed to be navigating much easier than he had yesterday. He was noticeably more coordinated as he hopped along. 

But Stan didn’t fail to notice the drowning of the color in his face, which made him worry. Stan had to remind himself that it was completely normal; Kyle had been sitting down for a long time and the pace of his natural blood flow was challenged due to the sudden movement, the same thing happened to Stan all the time, just like it would any other human being. It was fine. Kyle was fine.

Stan felt a little better after giving himself that briefing, and went along with Kyle down the hallway.

By the time they got to the staircase, Stan wordlessly slipped Kyle up on his back, piggyback style, and carried him down the stairs, holding his pair of shoes in one hand.

Stan didn’t take Kyle off his back until they arrived at the dining area, where Stan slipped him into a chair at the long end of the table. At Kyle’s house, the dining area was separated from the kitchen by a long wall painted a deep shade of forest green and decorated with elegant tiles and doilies. The wall was built to give the dining area a little more separation from the kitchen, so it was less of a dining area and more of a dining room.

In respect to the wall, Kyle and Stan could claim that they were in a room entirely separated from the kitchen. Though they could still hear commotion erupting from the kitchen nonetheless.

They were the first sounds that Stan heard from Kyle’s house all morning. They were essentially a cacophony, Stan could not distinguish the sounds or their origins at all, only the clanging and rustling of something in sporadic movement, distressing the once quiet environment with belligerent noise.

Stan quirked an eye at Kyle, anticipating an explanation.

Kyle just shrugged in response.

“Okay, well I’m going to get us some breakfast now,” Stan whispered. He didn’t know why, he just felt the impulse to whisper and he followed through on it, “Do you want some of the stuff I brought or the stuff in your kitchen?”

Kyle just shrugged again, which slightly irked Stan though he didn’t dare point it out.

“Well, I left all my stuff in my car,” Stan went on, still whispering, “I don’t really want to go out in the arctic tundra if you’re just going to eat the food already here.”

He paused, and then added:

“But I would if you want me, too, Kyle. It’s not really a big deal. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Kyle rolled his eyes at Stan’s persistence. He was biting his lower lip to hold back a flattered expression, but it wasn’t working. He whispered back, “Just get the shit in my kitchen, then. Goddamn, you make it sound like breakfast is a do-or-die scenario.”

“Well, it very well could be. Breakfast is the most im-”

“-the most important meal of the day. I know. I got it. Thank you. Just shut up and get on with it already.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Whatever you say, your highness. And don’t you worry, Kyle, I can get you breakfast that won’t make you dizzy afterwards. I know a lot about nutrition and what to eat because of fo-”

“-because of _football._ I know. I know. I know. I got it. Thank you. I got it. I know. I got it. Thank you.”

“Dude, you’re the _worst,”_ Stan grinned from ear to ear.

“Shut up and feed me. I’m hungry,” Kyle wrinkled his nose in defiance.

Stan sighed contentedly to himself, leaving the dining room with his hands tucked into his pockets. He dropped his shoes off by the front door and went on with his happy ambling. All of his anxieties and worries from before were now a distant memory. It seemed as though just the mere satisfaction of spending time with his best friend melted all the bad thoughts away. Kyle’s joie de vivre was so vibrant early that morning that it kindled Stan’s own happiness in turn. This was going to be a good day, Stan could tell.

It wasn’t often Stan had confidence in good days, but he was sure about today. He had an inkling this was going to be a day he would not soon forget.

His excitement didn’t die when he arrived in the kitchen, not even when he walked in on Gerald Broflovski leaning against the counter, nursing a drink. His sleepy posture gave no indication that he had been making the loud noises at all. He looked like he just woke up.

“Good morning, sir,” Stan greeted with high spirits. He located a pack of bread slices, and put two slices into the nearby toaster for three minutes. He knew Kyle’s kitchen well enough that he could find his way around. He found their jar of peanut butter inside the pantry.

Gerald’s eyes narrowed as he watched Stan walk around his kitchen, but not with malice. It was more like he was watching with curiosity.

“Hello, Stan,” Gerald greeted back, voice groggy, “What are you doing here on a school day?”

“Just looking after Kyle again,” Stan said. He found a hand of bananas in a fruit dish and plucked three, two for himself and one for Kyle. 

“My wife didn’t tell me you were coming today.”

“I guess there was a bit of a miscommunication,” Stan said thoughtfully. Just as the toast finished, he grabbed two plates from a cupboard and placed the toasts down accordingly. He found a butter knife in an organized drawer and used it to spread some peanut butter on the toast slices.

Gerald’s frown was less forgiving, “If I had known you would be here today, I wouldn’t have had to stay home. I could have gone to work.”

Stan froze. He didn’t like the tone Mr. Broflovski used; it indicated that their conversation was already starting to go downhill.

Stan feigned indifference. He finished spreading the peanut butter on the toasts, and placed the bananas on the plates beside them as he spoke:

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I’m sure you could go back now if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind watching Kyle for the day.”

“I already called for the whole day off.”

“I’m- um. I’m sorry to hear that,” Stan said, not really sure of what else he could possibly say. He was becoming exceedingly uncomfortable with each passing moment. He opted for a distraction.

“Hey, Kyle!” he called to the dining room, “Do you drink coffee in the morning?”

“Yes!” came Kyle’s voice from the other side of the green wall.

“Well, you shouldn’t!” Stan called back.

Gerald placed a hand to his temple, “Stan, my boy, don’t be so loud in the morning. I beg of you.”

“Sorry. Won’t happen again,” Stan said quickly. He took both plates in his hands and made for the dining area before Gerald could say another word, walking quick enough it could be considered running.

He set down Kyle’s plate in front of him. He frowned when Kyle didn’t give him a reaction, and sat down next to his friend, setting his own plate down, too. It was then that he realized Kyle wasn’t reacting because he was absorbed in his phone, eyes practically glued to the screen,

“You texting Ike?” Stan asked.

“Oh, no. I’m not _that_ rude, Stan,” Kyle said. He turned off his phone and put it aside, “Just checking my blood sugar. I have a thingy that connects to my phone.”

“Look at you, taking care of yourself for once,” Stan praised, nudging Kyle with his elbow.

“Shut up,” Kyle groaned, “What’s for breakfast?”

“The perfect breakfast to not make you dizzy,” Stan said, “Toast for carbs, peanut butter for protein and healthy fats, and banana for potassium and to contribute to your five fruits and veggies a day.”

“You’re such a health nut.”

“I don’t take that as an insult,” Stan folded his toast in half and took a large bite, the peanut butter melting from the heat of the bread and coating his tongue with its flavor. This was one of his favorite breakfasts. He wasn’t that big on sweets in the morning, but this was one he always looked forward to devouring.

“Do I have to eat all of it?” Kyle complained, peeling his banana with both hands, like a child would.

“It would be best if you did,” Stan said, accidentally taking over the ‘mama hen’ persona everyone claimed he possessed, “at least finish your toast, though. I swear on my life you won’t be dizzy afterwards.”

“On your life, huh?” Kyle challenged. He set down his banana before he even got a taste, and took a bite out of the toast instead.

“What do you think?” Stan pressed after swallowing a bite of his first banana. Being the hungry athlete he was, Stan was already done with his own slice of toast.

“The peanut butter’s all melty.”

“That’s the best part!”

“It doesn’t even really taste like peanut butter anymore.”

“But it’s good, though, right?”

Kyle took another bite, nodding, “Yeah. It’s pretty good.”

Just as Stan was starting his first banana, there was a commotion of sounds coming from the kitchen. Once again, Stan and Kyle sat in silence while a dissonance of violent noises erupted from the kitchen.

“Dude,” Stan whispered, “Where are those noises coming from?”

“The kitchen, I guess,” Kyle whispered back.

“Yeah, but like _where?”_

“I don’t know. My dad? Was my dad making noises when you were in there?”

“No. He looked like he just got home from a fourteen hour shift. I swear he was about to pass out on me.”

“Well, he was up late last night,” Kyle whispered. His gaze faltered downward. The clutch he held on his toast tightened, squishing the ends of his breakfast together haphazardly.

“Doing what?”

To that, Kyle didn’t respond. His eyes were still pointed down, like he had given up on something. He appeared defeated, lost.

Kyle gave a mighty sigh, one that seemed far too big for his small figure. He set his toast back down on his plate and pushed it away, “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“What?” Stan asked, no longer whispering. Stan himself had just finished his second banana; this considering that two bananas and a slice of peanut butter toast was his second breakfast. Meanwhile, Kyle had half a slice of peanut butter toast left and he hadn’t even started on the banana.

“What do you mean you’re ‘not hungry anymore?’” Stan repeated, standing up from his seat.

“I’m just not hungry.”

“Yes, you are,” Stan said.

“Stan, you can’t-”

“-Yes, I can,” Stan interrupted, “And yes, you are hungry. And you’re going to finish your breakfast and you’re going to like it.”

“You’re such a fucking mama hen,” Kyle grumbled, pulling at his hair.

“Dude, I’m worried about you,” Stan put his foot down. 

Kyle’s green eyes darted to the corner for a second. He hesitated before returning to meet Stan’s gaze. Almost apologetically, Kyle replied with, “Everyone is.”

Stan felt his strong posture droop, his fist relaxing to a gentle place on the table.

“Kyle…” he started, though he hadn’t any idea as to what he was preparing to say.

Kyle raked his hand through his curly red hair, pulling away from Stan and drawing into himself, “Hey, how about you do me a favor?”

“Anything for you,” Stan replied a little too quickly.

“Would you go to the kitchen and get my meds? I’m supposed to take a couple in the mornings now.”

Stan sighed, “You know, dude, I really hate it that you have to take meds.”

“Me too,” Kyle forced a shrug, “It’s cool though. It’s for my foot. I’ll get better.”

“Okay,” Stan said, “but have you tried the R.I.C.E. method?”

“What’s the ‘rice method?’”

“Remind me to show you later,” Stan said, a hint of bleakness sinking into his tone. He pushed his chair in at the table, “But sure, dude. I’ll get your meds. No biggie.”

“Awesome,” Kyle replied, though everything about his presence read that it was anything _but_ ‘awesome.’

Stan meandered his way back to the kitchen, wondering to himself what went wrong. He had predicted that today was going to be a good day, but it was really starting to suck; and it wasn’t even noon yet. But somehow he still had the sinking feeling that told him today was going to be memorable nonetheless. Something big was going to happen. Something was coming.

Stan didn’t realize how rapidly his heart was battering against his ribcage until he was face to face with Gerald Broflovsk in the kitchen once again.

Though he was undeniably the same man from Stan’s nightmares, he didn’t really look like himself. His posture was even laggier than it was a few minutes ago, like he was caving in on himself. But the horror he lacked in his physicality, he made up for with his eyes. Those crepuscular, funereal eyes possessed a vigor that Stan had never before witnessed. Their opaqueness was just so desolate that it stripped Gerald’s appearance of anything even remotely humanlike, as if he were possessed. Gerald Broflovski was not himself.

Stan’s voice was trapped inside his throat. He felt like he was being burned alive by the intensity in Gerald’s foreboding eyes. He stood there a moment, entranced by his eyes, before finally managing to sputter out, “I-Is everything okay, Mr. Gerald?”

“See, I’m jus’ having trouble understanding one thing, kid,” Gerald slurred. He took a sip of his drink, which Stan could now see was definitely a kind of alcohol, “I jus’ don’ get why my Sheila would send you over when she goddamn knows I’m already here.”

Stan didn’t speak. He learned over the years that when a gorilla charges, you stand your ground. Drunk fathers were just another species of gorilla. Assess your situation, stand your ground, and then take action if you must--but _only_ if you absolutely must.

“What? Does she not think I can take care of my own son?” Gerald went on, addressing Stan, though he was clearly only talking to himself, “He’s _my_ fucking son, too. Jus’ as much as he’s hers, he’s _mine._ And yet she sends a _kid_ to come over and take care of him.”

He was pacing the kitchen now, stealing swigs of his drink in between paragraphs, “Not even that. A fucking depressed kid who gets C’s in high school. I don’ even know why the fuck she lets you spend time with my son, Stan, you’re a bad influence on him.”

Gerald was in Stan’s face now, his musty breath nearly making Stan gag as he spat in his face, “I don’ want you in my house. I can take care of my own fucking kid jus’ fine. He’s _my_ son, goddamn it, and I can take care of him!”

Stan remained mute. He stood his ground, fists grounded at his sides.

“Well, say something!” Gerald shouted.

Stan defied. He studied the floor in his silence.

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Gerald spat, “He’s _my_ kid, not yours, and I want you out of my house!”

If it hadn’t been for Stan’s intensive training, he would probably be on the floor in agony right about now.

When Gerald Broflovski raised his hand to strike Stan, he was ready. Stan backed up in the nick of time, dodging the major blow by a fraction of an inch. He knew this drill all too well. He raised his arms up to shield his face, but only in preparation, and readied his knees by bending them at the joints. Stan was preparing for more, yearning, practically aching, to defend himself. He had never wanted a fight with someone so earnestly in his life before, he couldn’t even describe how intensely he wanted this.

But when Gerald’s hand hit nothing but air, a disgusting scowl crept up on his face and his hand lowered to his side. Stan could tell that the gesture he made intimidated Gerald by the way he started sinking into himself.

“Get out of my house,” Gerald said; he looked unready to physically defend his statement, but he very well could be stronger than he appeared. His physical strength was still an unknown for Stan--which was terrifying.

“What are you doing?” Stan asked, arms still raised.

“Just weeding out the garden from little _pests,_ ” he snarled, “Get out of my house, Stan, before I call the cops.”

Stan swallowed. He lowered his hands, but not his guard.

“Y-You wouldn’t,” Stan stammered.

“I would. And I could. You’re deliberately stayin’ when I want you to leave, ain’t you?”

“I’m not doing anything wrong!”

“You’re _trespassing!”_ Gerald threw his bottle against the wall, causing it to break into little pieces, the liquid trickling down the tile in little rivers.

Stan flinched, shutting his eyes, when Gerald raised his hand to strike him again, but the blow never came. With great trepidation, Stan pried his eyes open, only to see that Gerald Broflovski was gone and nowhere in sight.

Immediately, Stan went into a panic. Though Gerald didn’t actually hit him, he still felt a severe bash collide with his skull, making him dizzy and disoriented. The kitchen swirled around him in his distress, creating effervescent flurries in his line of vision. It was almost like he was on the football field after a concussion; he was breathing excessively and in a sweat, and he felt like he was tearing apart from the inside.

How Gerald managed to pull off a vanishing act while under the influence was a mystery, but not one that concerned him. Stan was only unnerving because he was now trapped inside a funhouse with a man whose strength was an unknown. A disoriented, dangerous man at that, who could very easily hurt someone.

Stan took a sharp inhale. In his hysteria, he forced himself to stand up straight, to clear his vision, to keep his eye on the ball. Except there was no ball, this wasn’t a football game. But there was Kyle. Keep his eye on Kyle.

Where was Kyle?

Stan fled to the dining area without thinking. He didn’t deter his sprint until his foot accidentally collided with the table, sending him to err downward. He caught himself before the table face blindsided him, and once again readied his stance for defense.

What surprised him was that he ran in on a scene he was not expecting. Gerald Broflovski stood behind Kyle, hunched over his son’s chair so he could whisper in his ear, his long hands resting tenderly on Kyle’s shoulders. Kyle was far from distraught, and oddly, so was his father. Kyle appeared to be in no danger whatsoever, his posture loose and his expression clean.

Stan gaped at a loss for words. His fists were trembling. He was already agitated, but now he was downright nonplussed.

“What’s going on?!” he asked, his voice cracking.

Gerald didn’t give a straight answer. He instead stood up straight, feasibly gaining nearly half a foot in height. Stan witnessed the way his fingers tightened their grip on Kyle’s shoulders when he spoke, “I want you out of my house.”

“Kyle, get away from him!” Stan shrieked.

Though as soon as the plea left his mouth, Stan understood that that wasn’t going to happen. The death glare with which Gerald severed him and Kyle’s ominously relaxed presence were telltale signs that Stan had no dog in this fight. He was not supposed to be here. He was putting himself in danger of God knows what, and yet he didn’t run. He stood there deadpanned, as if his legs had turned to stone.

“No, no, no, what’s going on? I don’t understand,” Stan said in a mouselike voice, disbelief flooding his tone. 

Kyle acted as if he didn’t hear Stan at all. He was impassive through and through. Gerald, on the other hand, maintained his stern expression, clutch on his son’s shoulders tightening even more.

“K-Kyle, please,” Stan trembled, breath hitching. He could feel the tickle of tears welling in his eyes, but that didn’t concern him now.

When Gerald pulled out his cell phone, Stan knew with absolute certainty that his fight was over.

“Don’t call the cops, please,” he hung his head low, “Okay. I’m leaving. I’m sorry.”

Neither Broflovski responded, which only made Stan more uneasy.

He simply walked toward the front door, walking with so much normality that he hated it. He hated how trivial the scene was turning out to be. He slipped on his shoes, just like how he would on any other normal day, tears starting to slip down his face. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes aggressively, his rough coat sleeves irritating his wet eyes.

He cast a glance back over his shoulder to the dining room, but he was at an angle where he couldn’t see or hear anything at all.

His heart sank.

Moving robotically, as if on autopilot, Stan opened the front door, closed it behind him, and descended the porch steps to get to his car. He strapped himself in and ignited the engine. It wasn’t until he already drove two blocks down the quiet neighbourhood street that he realized what he was doing.

He felt a tremendous wave of guilt overcome him, and the tears cascaded down in turn. The guilt clogged his senses and consumed every last bit of spirit still inside him until he was nothing but the living embodiment of shame. How monstrous does a person have to be to leave behind his super best friend in a moment of distress? Just how barbarous, inhumane, remorseless, and unrepenting really was Stan? 

To pledge to be a good friend every day for their entire childhood and then suddenly bail out when he finally had the chance to prove his affection was _heartless_.

Stan pulled over to the side of the road. He was crying too much to see the road clearly. He put the car in park and scrapped at his eyes as he hyperventilated.

What was he _doing?_ He was driving home, taking himself to safety, when the person he cared about more than anyone else in the world was stuck injured with the man of his nightmares.

He could turn around now and go back to him, but that would risk sending him to prison. If Stan went to prison, he would never be able to protect Kyle again. But at the same time, if he just went home, something truculent could happen without him being able to intervene.

Stan’s death grip on the steering wheel was so tight his hands were bulging at the pressure.

He was trapped. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t protect Kyle.

The tears were coming in rivers now, but he gave up on trying to stop them. He just let himself cry, letting his forehead fall down on his hands. His body was wracked with violent sobs, each one more deplorable than the last one, as the gentle snow drifted delicately outside him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only warnings I can think of for this chapter are: smoking, and mention/suspicion of child abuse.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. It means a lot you've made it this far :)  
> I have to know: Is my development of the story going too slow? Thoughts?
> 
> Thanks again!

Stan couldn’t exactly pinpoint just how long he cried, but it must have been a long time, because by the time he was done, the weather had shifted dramatically. What used to be a gentle snow of flurries was now a full-blown blizzard. His dinky little car was buckling under the strong wind, and the icy snow was so constant that it covered every car window. He had made the stupid mistake of keeping his engine on while he was parked on the side of the road, and he was now running near to empty on gas.

It was depressing that a snowstorm and a half empty tank of gas were the only reasons Stan forced himself to get back on track. 

With gritted teeth and deep breaths, Stan managed to pull himself together, at least a little bit. He hit the windshield wipers on and put them at full speed, disappointed to discover that as soon as they wiped the debris away, more ice and snow were there only a second later. Stan was essentially blinded to the world outside his car.

In truth, Stan didn’t live very far away from his current location. He had a vague idea of where he was in relation to his home, but he knew better than to just drive there. His beaten-up, hand-me-down car could barely even handle driving uphill, and its worn-down tires stood no chance against ice thicker than two inches. There was no way his car would survive even a short distance in this weather.

Stan muttered to himself and rested his head down on the steering wheel in defeat. He didn’t want to call for a tow truck, and he especially didn’t want to call his dad to come help him.

Stan just couldn’t ask for help. How could he? He wanted to  _ give _ help, not take it. The only thing he wanted to do today was help his best friend, and he already failed at that tremendously.

Stan shook his head vehemently and drummed his hands on the steering wheel to distract himself. He absolutely refused to have his mind wander back to Kyle. If he started thinking about Kyle, he would start crying again, and then he’d be trapped in a snowstorm in a car with an empty tank being miserable all day long.

It was easier in theory than in reality. Even before today, Kyle was a constant on Stan’s mind. He was like a better version of an earworm. Kyle was in Stan’s thoughts twenty four hours a day, seven days a week; but until today, that never bothered him. He had always welcomed the daydreams as long as they were positive.

When they were negative, they were less of daydreams and more of paralyzing nightmares. His negative thoughts about Kyle were never that Kyle was the enemy, it was never that Kyle was doing something wrong or destructive. It was more like bad things happened  _ to _ Kyle, and Stan wasn’t there for him. He couldn’t even count all the times Stan thought of Kyle being hit by a car, drowning, sustaining bodily injury, falling gravely ill, or even dying. Being the nervous pessimist that he was, Stan had these kinds of thoughts much more frequently than he did happy ones. Over the years, he fell into a nasty pattern of over-worrying, and then spiraling down rabbit hole, after rabbit hole, after rabbit hole, imagining the worst he possibly could again, and again, and again.

That’s why Stan forbade himself of thinking Kyle any more. He couldn’t do that right now. He knew for certain it would only lead to bad things for him, which in turn, might lead to worse things for Kyle. He just couldn’t deal with it right now.

In an effort to distract himself, Stan flipped on his car stereo. His car was an older model and its radio was broken, but the CD player still worked. So Stan kept a stash of his favorite CDs in the glove box for all the times he needed the sweet relief of music.

He let out a long exhale when Good Charlotte started playing, relaxing a little. He flexed his strong, jock-like fingers on the steering wheel. Absentmindedly, he wished he had brought gloves with him that morning; the skin on his hands was going dry because of the cold air, and the tips of his fingers were turning bright red.

“Red,” Stan said to himself, admiring the freezing tips of his fingers with strange fascination.

Red.

Red.

Red hair.

Kyle’s red hair.

Kyle’s hair.

_ Kyle. _

He left Kyle behind.

He left his best friend behind.

He left his super best friend behind.

He left  _ Kyle _ behind.

In a desperate moment of weakness, Stan turned the stereo volume up tenfold. The sheer intensity of the volume roared in Stan’s ears, making them start to pound and pulse in pain.

Stan winced, but he neither covered his ears nor turned down the music. He just let himself sit in his self-inflicted discomfort, praying to  _ God _ (or whatever otherworldly spirit existed out there, Stan didn’t really know at this point) that his mind would be clear of Kyle until he could at least get home.

It wasn’t until he was blasting himself with music that Stan actually realized what song was playing. 

“I Don’t Wanna Be In Love (Dance Floor Anthem)” by Good Charlotte roared at full volume. Personally, Stan preferred much angrier music, but Good Charlotte was one of those post modern rock bands that he had to admit he enjoyed. 

This song wasn’t a sad song, not really anyway; it was actually a really fun song; it did call itself the “Dance Floor Anthem” after all. But Stan somehow still found himself deploring as he focused on the lyrics.

He sighed. It seemed as though not even good music could distract him from his despondency.

He lay his head against his driver side window, feeling the chill of the glass against his face. He watched the glass fog up at his warm breath, speaking some of the lyrics aloud to himself, “Everybody, put your hands up. Say I don’t want to be in love, I don’t wanna be in love. To the beat now, if you got nothing left. I don’t wanna be in love. I don’t wanna be in love…”

Though the song already moved on to the next verse, Stan found himself repeating that last line again.

“I don’t want to be in love,” he said, not even recognizing his own voice. 

What was he  _ doing? _

Just as Stan was spiraling down another plunge of uncompromising thoughts, he was surprisingly torn away when somebody opened his door.

Stan was luckily still wearing his seat belt; it caught him before he could fall too far. Stan jerked himself upright to face whatever pulled his door open, huffing with irritation.

His jaw dropped when he saw that the offender was a kid roughly his age and height, dressed in an encumbering orange parka, face practically undetectable underneath the hood.

“Kenny?!” Stan shrieked over the sound of the howling wind, not to mention also over the blasting music, “What are you doing?!”

Kenny McCormick shouted something in response, but his words were muffled and slurred underneath his hood. He was essentially rendered speechless.

“Kenny, I can’t understand you!” Stan called, “Get in the car and close the door before you freeze to death out there!”

Kenny practically jumped for joy, skirting around the car to the other side, where he bounced into the passenger door. Both he and Stan closed the car doors and locked them, perchance Stan would have to tolerate another surprise visitor. After turning off the stereo, Kenny pulled back his hood and chirped happily, “You saved my tail, dude. I was about to freeze my ass off.”

“Why were you outside in a snowstorm?” Stan asked, bewildered as he inspected his friend.

Kenny was red in the face and his hair was dotted with ice flecks. He was luckily dressed in his gigantic protective parka, but even that didn’t warrant outdoor activity during a blizzard.

“Cutting class, of course,” Kenny shrugged, “Cartman was gonna do it with me, but then he got stuck doing something for student council that he couldn’t escape. So it’s just me.”

Kenny’s smile faltered a bit as he looked at Stan, “Did you stay with Kyle again today?”

“What makes you say that?” Stan asked indifferently, avoiding eye contact.

“For one thing, you weren’t in class this morning. Two, you’re still not in class. Three, you look like you’ve been crying. Four, it’s just something Stan Marsh would do,” Kenny propped his feet up on the dashboard, crossing his left ankle over his right.

“I look like I’ve been crying?” Stan repeated. He opened the sunshade mirror and inspected himself. He frowned when he noticed that Kenny was wrong, Stan appeared perfectly normal.

“No, I don’t,” he said, still scrutinizing his reflection, “Unless I’m not seeing something.”

“Well, it’s not like there are tears runnin’ down your face or anything. I just got a feeling. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

“Well, I haven’t been crying,” Stan said, closing his sunshade, “It’s just the cold weather.”

“Sure, okay,” Kenny shrugged. 

Stan knew that Kenny didn’t buy his act, and he found it very odd that Kenny didn’t address Stan’s fibbing. Maybe Kenny was playing at something, like he was holding his own private investigation of Stan inside his head, the same way he used to play detective when they were kids. 

The idea disturbed Stan. Being the subject of scrutiny was the last thing he wanted right now. Stan decided to take initiative.

“You still didn’t answer my question, Kenny,” Stan said sternly, “What are you doing here?”

Kenny shrugged. He tucked his arms behind his head in a relaxed position, “Like I said, I was cutting class. I was walking home, then it started to snow real bad. I saw your car. I knew it was your car. I thought to myself, ‘Well, my dude Stan’s got to be in it. The car’s running after all.’ So I just popped in to say hi. That’s it. End of story.”

“That’s it? Just to say hi?”

“That, and maybe find out why you’re pulled over on the side of the road when you should be in school,” Kenny smiled when he added, “or cutting class alongside me.”

“Just having a bit of car trouble,” Stan muttered.

“She seems to be running fine to me.”

“There’s a blizzard going on out there, Kenny. I can’t see a thing. I couldn’t even see you through my door’s window. I can’t drive under these conditions.”

“Then why drive in the first place?” Kenny probed. His perlustration was too intense for such a relaxed demeanour. While Kenny’s entire presence was carefree, he somehow still managed to give Stan the long-hard-look, the look that shook him to the core.

“I- I was just-” Stan scrambled for reply, “Just driving home.”

It wasn’t a lie.

“Uh huh,” Kenny rested his cheek on his face casually, his scrutinizing gaze still present.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Stan asked, doing his best to pretend he wasn’t bothered.

“May I not admire the handsome jawline of one of my best friends?” Kenny asked innocently.

Stan grumbled to himself and fidgeted with his seatbelt. Under his breath he muttered, “I do not have a ‘handsome jawline…’”

“You do, too,” Kenny smiled, “You must chew a lot of gum.”

Stan spoke through gritted teeth, “No, you may not ‘admire’ my ‘handsome jawline.’ I’d also greatly appreciate it if you stopped pretending like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

The harmlessness in his tone was undeniable. It was frustrating.

“You know what you’re doing, Ken,” Stan snapped, “You’re freaking me out with that detective act. Stop it. Please.”

“I wouldn’t have to play detective if you’d just tell me what’s going on,” Kenny pointed out, keeping his composure placid and sedated.

“I wasn’t lying to you,” Stan muttered.

“I never said you were lying to me.”

“Then why are you-”

“-There’s a difference between lying and telling half-truths, wouldn’t you think?” Kenny fished through his parka pocket and pulled out an e-cigarette. He pointed it towards Stan, “Want a hit?”

“No, I’m good,” Stan sighed.

Kenny shrugged, “Suit yourself, my dude.”

He took an inhale from the device, and spoke on the exhale, smoke billowing out of his mouth in pearly clouds, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Kenny didn’t even need to say anything; Stan could tell from the look in his eyes alone that Kenny was done beating around the bush.

Stan’s mouth went dry. He had to tell Kenny, didn’t he? Kenny was his friend, too, and he deserved to be let in on serious situations. Kenny was, after all, the only person who understood how desperately Stan needed to see the site of Kyle’s accident, and he was respectable enough to give Stan space to process everything during the whole ordeal.

But even with those things considered, how could Stan explain everything that happened? Stan himself barely understood what he had just gone through, it all happened so fast and so suddenly. Even now, Stan couldn’t comprehend any of the events that happened back at the Broflovski household, only how they made him  _ feel. _

And that was another thing. The  _ feel  _ of it. How could Stan convey the  _ feeling _ of it all? For one thing, he wasn’t very eloquent--most athletes aren’t. It was safe to assume that he was entirely incapable of manifesting the intensity, sorrow, and fear he endured while there. Secondly, Stan’s habit of exaggerating and spiraling down imaginative worries were apparent to everyone, especially Kenny. It was also safe to predict that Kenny might not believe him just for that reason. It wasn’t like Stan had any proof either; he had no video recording, no audio recording, no paper manuscript, no physical injuries, nothing.

No physical injuries…

Now that Stan thought about it, there were no injuries at all. There was not one instance of physical violence the entire time he was at the Broflovski household. He only  _ thought  _ Gerald was going to hit him, he never actually did. The more he thought about it, Stan further realized that Kyle was also completely unscathed; Kyle rode through the event with a composed attitude the entire time. He didn’t even say anything.

Stan frowned.

So did that mean that  _ nothing  _ happened?

Kenny watched Stan with a close eye. He didn’t say anything more, he just pressed his thin lips to the metal mouth of his e-cigarette and inhaled.

Stan took a deep breath. He unclipped his seatbelt to give himself more breathing room, “Okay, Ken, I’m gonna say some crazy shit now.”

“I love crazy shit.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Kenny released the pleasant-smelling smoke through his nostrils, “Enlighten me. Please. I’m listening.”

So little by little, slowly but surely, Stan walked his way through the story. He made sure to include every detail he possibly could, even ones that may have been unnecessary. He only wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t leave anything out or go back to retell something. He wasn’t very silver-tongued, but he gave great attention to everything he was saying. Not a single word left Stan’s mouth that wasn’t important.

Kenny, being the fantastic friend that he was, never interrupted, which was honestly very impressive. It was part of Kenny’s nature to be rambunctious and impulsive, so Stan took great comfort in knowing that Kenny was doing his best to actually heed; it was incredibly touching.

Stan finished his story by describing how he started driving home, but pulled over because he was too emotionally distraught to see anything, and how he just sat in his car since then.

Kenny was silent for a few more seconds, as if waiting for Stan to continue. When he noticed that Stan didn’t have anything more to say, Kenny spoke.

“Well, that’s definitely not the story I was expecting,” he said bluntly.

“Why? What were you expecting?”

“To be honest-” Kenny rubbed the back of his neck, “You’re gonna yell at me, but hey, I’m not gonna lie. To be honest, I was imaginin’ that one of you tried to kiss the other one and you needed some emotional recovery time or something like that.”

“God _ damn _ it, Kenny! We’re not gay! Watch your mouth!” Stan cried.

“I never said you were!” Kenny was sorely candid in his remark. There was no offense in anything he had to say, “I never said you were! Honest. I told you, that was just somethin’ dumb I was thinking. Don’t worry about it. I know you guys aren’t gay. I know that.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Stan rubbed his hand over his face, “Sorry for yelling at you, Ken. I’m just… I guess I’m just really tense.”

Stan should have watched his mouth. To be fair, he should have been more careful talking about this subject in general. Stan realized before he even started speaking the severity of burdening Kenny with the story. Kenny himself was a victim of abuse at the hand of his parents. He wasn’t anymore, thank goodness.

As a matter of fact, it was Kyle and Stan who put their feet down and stopped it all. One time in middle school, Kenny had been beaten so badly that he didn’t go to school for four days straight afterwards. It scared everyone half to death. When Kyle and Stan couldn’t take the pressure and worrying anymore, they called CPS and the situation was immediately handled; their only regret was that they didn’t intervene sooner.

Kenny’s older brother was already out of the house and enrolled in the marines at the time, so he couldn’t return to South Park to look after his siblings.

Kenny ended up taking shelter with Butters’ family along with his younger sister, Karen. Why he lived with that family specifically was complicated. Both Kyle and Stan offered to take Kenny in, but that just didn’t really work out. Stan’s family couldn’t afford two more kids in the house, so staying with him was not an option, and Kenny later admitted that he just didn’t feel comfortable in the Broflovski household, so staying with Kyle was out of the question, too. 

But the Scotches were nice enough people. They had plenty of room in their sizable home, and they made good money for a middle class Coloradan family. Though Mr. and Mrs. Scotch were known to not treat their son Butters especially well, they welcomed Kenny and his sister with open arms and kindness. Their relationship worked out exceedingly well in the end.

Kenny never wanted to get legally adopted by the Scotch family, fearing it would complicate his relationship with Butters (which was already complicated enough as it was). But that didn’t stop him from insisting on Karen’s adoption until it was made official. 

Kenny and his sister have been living with the Scotch family for almost five years now, and he couldn’t be any happier. Stan was impressed with Kenny’s resilience; he never let any of his trauma bother him. He just accepted the loving home with a happy smile and went on with his life, as if salvation were the simplest thing in the world.

If Kenny ever did have dark thoughts, he never showed them. He was always smiling; either that, or he was staring off, simultaneously bored and unbothered.

Even now, Kenny appeared bored and unbothered, though Stan of course knew that he was aggressively thinking through everything in his head. Kenny pulled his hood back so he could tussle a hand through his moppy blonde hair.

“Okay, well,” Kenny blew air out of his lips, “There are a lot of things to consider here, I guess.”

“There sure are,” Stan sighed.

“So do you think Kyle’s being abused?” Kenny asked, not breaking his devil-may-care attitude.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the car gave an angry groan. With a whirr and a whine, the car bucked forward once before shutting down completely, making gnarled noises.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Stan muddled quickly, checking the gas gage in a moment of panic. He groaned aloud when he read that the car was completely empty.

“Dang it,” Stan grumbled, knocking his fist against the dashboard, “What the hell are we gonna do now?”

“Outta gas?” Kenny piqued.

“Yes. Yes, I’m out of gas.”

“Can’t drive home?”

“Not with an empty tank.”

“What if you put the car into neutral?”

“I can’t drive in this weather.”

“Want to just wait it out? Stay here? In the car?”

“We’ll freeze to death, Kenny,” Stan sighed. He noticed just now that steam was coming from his mouth from the cold.

“Freezing to death doesn’t sound so bad,” Kenny smiled.

“You’re telling me.”

Kenny was insistent, “Wanna call a towing company?”

“My family can’t afford that right now.”

“Wanna call your parents?”

“My mom’s out of town. My dad’ll kill me. He thinks I’m in school right now.”

Kenny contemplated this, “I could call Butters.”

“What would Butters do?”

“He could drive my truck by. We could hook your car up to my truck and take you to a station to refill.”

That actually wasn’t a half bad idea. In theory, no one would really get in any trouble except for maybe Butters.

“Oh wait,” Kenny sighed. He took another inhale from his e-cigarette, “Scratch that idea. That’s  _ no bueno. _ I forgot. Butters hates driving.”

“Yeah,” Stan frowned, “I doubt he would be able to manage your beat-up old truck in this kind of weather, too.”

“That’s true. I probably couldn’t either. Shit.”

“Yeah. I guess I’m calling my dad.”

“Guess so,” Kenny was preparing to take another puff, but Stan stopped him.

“Dude, no smoking when my dad gets here, okay? He’s been adamant about no drugs or alcohol since he started his recovery thing,” Stan warned. 

To be honest, even if that weren’t the case, Stan would have asked for Kenny to stop smoking anyway. It worried him. That may make him sound like a pussy, but Stan was just uncomfortable with the idea of his friend getting into any trouble because of it. 

But even more so, he still couldn’t let his dad find out Kenny was smoking in his car, that would probably result in an argument and even a punishment.

Kenny just shrugged, “Sure,” and tucked it back into the inner pocket of his parka.

While Kenny entertained himself by pressing the buttons on Stan’s car (which did nothing at all, by the way, since the car was dead), Stan dialed his dad’s number and waited for him to pick up, nervously picking at his nails as he waited.

Randy Marsh picked up after the first three rings,  _ “Hello? Stanley?” _

“Hi, Dad,” Stan started, regretting the decision to call already, “so I’m in a bit of a situation…”

_ “Oh, fuck. What’d you do now, son?” _

“So for starters, I went to Kyle’s house,” Stan paused, anticipating his dad’s blow up.

He was surprised when Randy didn’t reply.

“Dad, did I cut out or something? Can you hear me okay?” Stan double checked.

_ “No, I heard you.” _

“Well, why aren’t you yelling at me? I said I went to Kyle’s house.”

_ “Oh, come on, Stanley, do you think I don’t know my own son? Of course you went to Kyle’s house. I knew the minute I forbid you from going that you were going anyway. I’m not surprised at all.” _

“Are you mad at me?”

_ “No.” _

“Oh. It’s the old ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ thing. Right?”

_ “No, I’m not disappointed. I’m actually impressed,”  _ Randy, making Stan smile in response. Randy was heard yawning from the other side of the phone before responding,  _ “Okay, so what’s the ‘situation?’” _

“I was driving home from Kyle’s house and my car ran out of gas. We’re in the middle of a snowstorm, so we can’t really do anything,” Stan stopped, but then added, “Oh, and by ‘we,’ I mean me and Kenny. Kenny’s here, by the way. Say hi, Kenny.”

Stan put the call on speaker, and Kenny shouted out louder than necessary, “What’s up, Mr. Marsh!? How you doing?!”

Stan returned the phone to his ear to hear the aged chuckle of his father.

_ “He sounds like he’s in good spirits. Good kid. Okay, Stanley, what do you need me to do? Call a towing company or come pick you up?” _

“Probably pick us up,” Stan answered, entirely grateful for his father’s understanding. This kind of sporadic situation would have never been tolerated a few years ago. He smiled to himself as he went on, “Tow trucks are expensive and slow, anyway.”

_ “Okay, I’ll be there soon and take you boys home. Unless you want to go back to school?” _

“No way!”

Though Stan couldn’t see his dad’s face, he could imagine the slight smile that blossomed there as he laughed at his son’s reaction. He could further imagine Randy stroking his mustache as he said through the phone,  _ “Okay, I’ll be there. Don’t freeze to death before I get there, though. Your mom would kill me.” _

“No promises. I’ll do my best,” Stan said. He added, “Thanks, Dad.”

_ “Of course, son. I’m glad you called.” _

“Yeah, I am, too,” Stan said before he could hear the distinct sound of the other caller hanging up.

Very much satisfied, Stan set his phone aside on the dashboard and turned to face his passenger with confidence, “I think it’s gonna be okay, Ken.”

“Your dad wasn’t pissed?”

“Yeah, I’m surprised, too. I think he’s really changed for the better the last two years,” Stan sighed contentedly and rested his head back against his seat, “I think these days he goes easy on me ‘cause when he was my age he did bad things, too. Knowing my dad, he probably did worse things. So if anything, I think he supports me spending time with Kyle instead of going to school and things like that.”

Kenny quirked an eyebrow, “So do you think he’d be fine with me smoking then?”

Stan pursed his lips, “No. No smokes, no drugs, no drinks. Those are the only rules.”

Kenny sighed, “Stan, my friend, you must be so thankful I like you enough to follow your rules. If you were anyone else, I would’ve broken every single one of them by now just out of spite.”

“Well, thank you for liking me, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kenny drummed his fingers along his long legs absentmindedly.

Now that the stereo was no longer playing, the only sound permeating in the shut-down car was the  _ pat pat pat  _ of Kenny’s hands drumming along his legs. Stan and Kenny sat together in the freezing car, watching as their breaths were starting to thicken in the air, and watching ice start to crystalize on the windows.

Stan found himself once again studying his fingers. They weren’t red because of the cold this time, now they were white. That was a bad sign.

He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and sneezed.

“Gesundheit,” Kenny smirked.

“Sorry, it’s just so cold,” Stan said. He rubbed his nose with the inside of his elbow.

Kenny groaned, “Hey, man, you got any food? I’m famished.”

“Yeah. There should be a huge bag in the back seat. Help yourself.”

“Will do,” Kenny dug through the giant paper bag, “Woah, man, you got a lot of stuff in here.”

“I know. I usually pack extra.”

“For Kyle?”

“...Yeah.”

“I’m telling you, that kid just won’t eat.”

“...yeah…”

“Well I’m a hungry, hungry boy, so I’m ‘onna eat,” Kenny selected two sandwiches secured in plastic wrap and plopped them down on his lap so he could devour them, “What kinda sandwiches are these?”

“Standard BLT,” Stan shrugged.

“Aw, dude! You eat like a king! Don’t mind if I do,” Kenny chirped happily before taking in large mouthfuls of the food. He talked while he was chewing, “I think I’m still growing. I’ve been hungry for, like, three months straight now.”

Stan shrugged again in response. He was somehow already tired of the conversation. It seemed to be stretching on endlessly with no real point to it.

“Eat what your body needs, I guess,” Stan forced himself to reply.

Luckily, Kenny didn’t push on (for once). He just ate through both sandwiches sloppily, and then wiped his hands on his jeans when he finished. He belched, and then pounded on his chest, but did not say ‘excuse me.’

Instead, he said something Stan wasn’t expecting.

“So are you gonna answer my question?” Kenny asked out of nowhere.

Stan hadn’t a clue as to what Kenny was talking about, so he didn’t say anything, and just waited for him to go on.

Kenny rolled his head back, like Stan was being an idiot, “Well, would you rather have this conversation in front of your dad?”

“What conversation?”

“I asked you if you thought maybe Kyle was being abused.”

“Oh.”

Kenny stared.

“You--you did ask me that, didn’t you?” Stan said dumbly.

“Yes.”

Stan tried to focus on his freezing fingers, watching their color fade from white to blue when he said, “T-To be honest, I was hoping you could answer that for me.”

“Why?”

Again, the question was not offensive. It was composed, and somehow, it was strangely calming.

“Well, you have more knowledge on the subject. I’m sure that you can figure it out better than I can,” Stan replied, navigating through his words carefully.

“I call bull,” Kenny said patiently.

“What? Kenny, I don’t-”

“-I just think there’s another reason why you don’t want to accept this conversation. Too hard for you to take, maybe?” Kenny took another hit from his e-cigarette, despite Stan’s warning, “I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s cool. Take your time. Just think about it.”

“Think about-?” Stan was getting lost.

Kenny rolled his eyes before filling him in, “Think about why you don’t want to talk about Kyle maybe being abused. Just think about it, okay? That’s all I ask. Let me know when you got the answer--or keep it to yourself. I don’t care. Whatever makes you sleep at night.”

Kenny didn’t give Stan the time to say anything. He put his e-cigarette back into his inner parka pocket and went on, “But if you want my honest opinion, I’d say with a one hundred and fifty percent certainty that Kyle’s unhappy at home. Abused or not abused, doesn’t matter. One hundred and fifty percent unhappy at home, I guarantee you.”

Stan let his gaze die downward, slouching.

“I figured as such,” he muttered dejectedly.

“But to answer your question,” Kenny went on, “I’d say sure. Why not? I mean, all the signs are there.”

Stan’s breath hitched, “B-But there wasn’t-- I said there wasn’t any violence.”

“The brain hurts more than the body,” Kenny said wistfully; the composure in his tone was worrisome, “You of all people should know that, Stan.”

Stan felt like he had the life knocked out of him right then and there. It was worse than when he was tackled in football, and worse than being hit by a bus. It was almost as if some black hole manifested before him and sucked out every drop of liveliness he still had in him, leaving him a shallow, empty corpse.

“I have to go back to him.”

“What?” Kenny’s eyes blew wide open, “Stan, you’re not serious.”

“Right now. I’m going back to him. I’m going back to him right now,” Stan sputtered. He fumbled with unlocking his seatbelt and now went to unlock his door.

Kenny lunged for Stan’s arm and pulled it back, “Stan! What the fuck, dude?! You can’t go out there! You can literally die!”

“I don’t care, I’m going,” Stan pried Kenny’s hands away and tried the car door again, but Kenny fought back by wrestling Stan with both arms this time.

“Dude, stop! Think a damn minute, will you!?” Kenny hollered.

“Get off. I need to help Kyle,” Stan spat. There was no doubt he was the stronger specimen of the two, and defending himself was not something he would hesitate to do. With one hand, Stan knocked off Kenny’s arms and then pushed his head back against the passenger seat to hold him in place. With the other hand, he turned the handle of his car door.

The door didn’t move.

Stan released Kenny’s head and tried opening the door with both hands now.

The door didn’t budge.

“Shit,” he muttered. He gave a mighty rapping against the door, but it refused to buckle. He felt something heavy sink inside of him and turned to Kenny with wide eyes, “Kenny, I think we’re in trouble.”

“No shit, Stan!”

“I think the doors are frozen shut.”

Kenny blanched, “Oh.”

“...”

“...”

“We’re going to die.”

Kenny’s jaw was agape, blue eyes vast with apprehension, “No, Stan… It’s- We’re fine, okay? Everything is going to be a-okay. There’s no way we’re gonna die,” he forced a smile.

Stan buried his face in his hands, pricking his soft facial skin with the icy bite of his frozen fingers. The heat of his breath on his frigid hands practically burned. He shuddered, “D-Dude, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.”

Kenny’s false smile was assertive, “You never hurt me, man! We’re fine, okay? Your dad’s gonna be here any minute now. These things happen all the time in Colorado, i-it’s just nature around here.”

Stan was now rubbing his hands in an attempt to warm them, “Well, then, I’m moving away. I’m taking you and Kyle and we’re going to move. A-And Cartman, I guess. Fuck it, I’ll take Cartman, too. I-I’m taking the three of us someplace warm, someplace better, where you can’t-...” he shivered. A steaming hot tear slipped down his face, “-where you can’t get hurt anymore.”

The look in Kenny’s eyes was something indescribable. It was though he felt the impulse to reach out and envelop Stan in a hug, but somehow at the same time, he was afraid to move.

“Stan…” was the only thing Kenny could manage to mutter out.

Stan looked away. He focused on the ice building up on the other side of his window, watching it thicken by the minute.

It was then that Stan could detect a distinct  _ chink chink _ sound coming from the other side of the door. With a few more  _ chinks _ and some scraping sounds, the driver’s side door opened wide with a mighty heave.

Randy Marsh stood proudly in the tundra, an ice scraper clutched nobly in his mittened hand. He was dressed appropriately for the snow storm, buried under layers of coats and his face masked with a scarf around his mouth.

He winked at Stan before offering his hand, which Stan took gratefully, immediately pleasured by the sensation of warmth. Randy herded the kids to his car, which rested just on the other side of the street. Stan was shortly greeted by the satisfying heat in the vehicle as he slipped in the backseat, Kenny eagerly on his tail.

After securing Stan’s car and locking it shut, Randy returned to his driver's seat. He released a mighty contented sigh as, taking off his scarf as well as a few coats, “Well, that was exciting.”

“D-Dad, you’re the absolute be-est,” Stan praised from the back seat, his teeth chattering. He and Kenny collected Randy’s scarf and coats and bundled together under them, like blankets.

“Yeah, I know I’m the best,” Randy chuckled as he watched them in the rearview mirror, “Are you guys cold or something?”

“May-Maybe a little bi-it.”

“You’re lucky you ain’t dead,” Randy mused as he started to drive off.

Stan and Kenny exchanged a look, but said nothing.

“Anyway, Stanley, I figured nobody’s gonna steal your car during a snowstorm, so I left it on the side of the road there. Do you think that was a bad idea? I have the keys, don’t worry. We can pick it up in the morning, sound good? Just never tell your mom.”

“S-Sure.”

And with that, they rode back to the Marsh place in silence. 

Stan labored himself to focus on nothing but the scenery out his car window, but his thoughts kept darting back to bad places. He accidentally thought back to the heavy conversation in his car, the dire look in Kenny’s eyes,  _ Kyle. _

He hated thinking about Kyle. He knew that every time he thought about Kyle, he tortured himself. But the self-inflicted flogging was not a burden for Stan, no, he could take it. The real burden was that Stan was thinking about Kyle being trapped in his unhappy home, in his cage of probable abuse.

He was only  _ thinking,  _ he wasn’t actively  _ doing  _ anything to save him. Stan hated it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> So due to the virus, I am officially out of work for the time being. While this is a little worrisome, I'm sticking to the positives. This does mean that I will have more time to write and hopefully upload more frequently :)  
> I hope all you readers continue to stay safe out there, and I hope you and your families are doing well in this rather unnerving part of history we're living in. Remember, we're all in this together.
> 
> So this is the first time I've /ever/ written from more than one perspective in a story before. In this chapter, I test out both Kenny and Ike's points of view, but I still did by best to maintain the integrity of the story as I ushered it along. Please let me know how I did, and if I should continue or stop to explore different points of view.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: violence, and continued mentions/implications of abuse
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

“Dude.”

“...”

“Dude.”

“...”

“Dude.”

“...”

“Stan.”

“...”

“Stan.”

“...”

“Stan Marsh. Earth to Stan Marsh!”

“...”

“Dude, I can do this all day. I don’t get tired of being annoying.”

“...”

“Stan.”

“...”

“Stan.”

“...”

“Stan.”

“...”

“Stan, I wanna finish playing the card game! Come  _ on,  _ dude! Focus!”

When Stan still refused to break from his thoughts, Kenny gave a mighty sigh. It wasn’t unusual for Stan to get lost in deep thought. He was depressed, everyone knew that, and he could often be found staring off into nothingness for long periods at a time. Kenny understood that this was just a habit of Stan’s, maybe even a coping mechanism, so Kenny never intervened or tried to stop it. He usually just waited for Stan to break on his own and resumed life from where they left off.

But today was different. After Randy dropped the boys off at the Marsh house, he went back to work, leaving Kenny and Stan to occupy themselves for the rest of the day. That was three hours ago. Ever since they arrived at Stan’s house, the quarterback little by little drew into himself. Over the steady period of three hours, he talked less and closed off more.

Kenny and Stan were on the floor of the living room, a long coffee table separating them. They had been immersed in a rather exciting game of Uno when little by little, Stan started to shut down completely. He eventually broke down to the point that he was now staring blankly out of the window, lips drawn into a thin, white line, thinking, but not processing.

Kenny felt bad for the guy, he really did, so he didn’t say anything for the first few minutes. He just pretended to be completely fascinated by his card hand to pass the time. He even started to entertain himself by trying to get the cards to stand in little pyramids.

But after twenty solid minutes of his cards falling over and his friend staring off, Kenny had to put his foot down.

“Stan, come  _ on.  _ I’m  _ bored, _ ” he begged. He knew the quarterback would be difficult to pry from his head, but he never would have imagined it would take so much effort.

When Stan didn’t reply, Kenny grew even more worried. Stan was just so  _ lost.  _ It was like he was on an entirely different planet. What’s worse is that this kind of behavior happens all the time these days. Stan just didn’t talk to him anymore. He went from being just a reserved introvert to intentionally blocking people out. The older they grew, the more Stan pulled away from Kenny and Eric, and the more he devoted himself to Kyle, and only Kyle.

It wasn’t as though Kenny didn’t like this, because in truth, he was honestly very happy that Stan found a motivator in his life, and he was even happier that that motivator was another one of his good friends. Kyle brought Stan so much joy, so much so that the entire town population could see it from a mile away. Some townsfolk even referred to them as the “new Tweek and Craig,” though that was far from the truth. Because it just made him so happy, Kenny rather supported Stan’s extreme pampering of the guy; he found it both endearing and funny.

It was only that in more recent weeks, Kenny noticed a shift in Stan’s so-called “pamperings.” It was difficult to describe in words how Stan’s affections changed, but if Kenny had to, he would say that Stan was more  _ selfless _ in his Kyle-adorations. It was like Stan stopped caring about himself entirely, and devoted every last ounce of love he could to Kyle.

It didn’t help that Kyle’s injury happened two days ago. The accident must have only increased Stan’s selflessness, but Kenny wouldn’t know that for sure because until a few hours ago, he hadn’t had any alone time with Stan in  _ months!  _ It was so difficult to keep tabs on Stan when all he wanted to do was be with Kyle instead.

Kenny let that thought repeat in his head one more time. All he wanted to do was be with Kyle… 

Kenny was starting to develop an idea, one that could break Stan from his trance. But it was an ugly idea, and he didn’t like it.

“Don’t make me do it, Stan.”

“...”

“I’m warning you.”

“...”

Kenny stifled a sigh. Though he was far from unleashing total warfare on the poor guy, Kenny still wasn’t fond of what he was preparing to do. 

“Okay, Stan, you asked for this…” Kenny warned one last time, desperately praying Stan just responded. 

When he didn’t, Kenny took in a deep breath. He drew his hoodie tighter around his face to prepare himself; though it wasn’t like Kenny knew what to expect. He had never once dared to do this before; and that’s astonishing considering the daredevil that he was.

But this was about Stan, not him. Kenny was worried about Stan, and he has been worrying for him for a long time now. It scared him when he went quiet like this.

This thing that Kenny was preparing to do, it wasn’t malicious. It was only to get Stan’s attention. That was all he wanted. He just wanted Stan’s attention, then maybe, he could help him.

Kenny started to feel a little bit better about following through with his plan. The more he thought about it, he really wasn’t going to do anything bad. Kenny was only going to catch Stan off guard, just to break him from his thoughts. His plan might be a little bit on the aggressive side, but it was necessary. For Stan’s sake.

After giving himself that much-needed pep-talk, Kenny launched right into his plan:

“Stan!” Kenny shrieked, slamming his hands down on the coffee table, “It’s Kyle! Something’s happened to Kyle!”

Stan snapped back into reality with speed so instantaneous it was disturbing. His entire body froze up and he went cold. The only sign of life Stan possessed anywhere was in the intensity of his eyes. Kenny could witness storm clouds brewing in Stan’s dark eyes at his very words. His dark blue irises churned and billowed with rage, greif, and longing.

But all of this happened in a fraction of a second.

When that fraction was over, Stan gripped both sides of the coffee table and threw himself over. Launching over the table with the speed and agility that only a godlike athlete could possess, he grabbed Kenny’s shoulders on his descent, crashing down on top of him when they collided with the ground. He pinned Kenny down with every ounce of powerful strength that he mustered, practically grinding Kenny’s bird bones against the rough carpet.

Kenny barely had time to react. In only a second, he found himself pressured to the ground underneath an impressive bulk of strength and darkness. 

“What happened to Kyle?!” Stan cried, his voice several octaves deeper than its norm. He didn’t sound like himself in the slightest.

“What happened to Kyle?!” he repeated, the storm in his eyes erupting, “Did somebody hurt him?!”

Kenny couldn’t respond. Stan’s arms were driving him into the floor by his chest. His lungs were practically compressing into themselves. He gasped and gaped, eyes bulging at the pressure as he struggled to breathe.

“St- St- St-a- St-a-” were the only sounds he managed to choke out under all the strain. He was trembling now, even under the violent tension, his body quaked in fear.

At the small noises sputtering past Kenny’s lips, Stan softened. The storm in his eyes died down a little. He turned to take in his surroundings, as if he were being exposed to his household for the very first time. His pressure on Kenny’s chest did not release, but it did loosen some, allowing Kenny to gulp in ravenous gasps for air.

Kenny started sputtering as he breathed, “S-Stan! Wha- What the  _ fuck?!  _ Are you trying to kill me?!”

It was then that Stan finally looked back to the boy beneath his arms. He peered down at him curiously, as if confused, before calmly standing up and retreating to the living room window.

At the release, Kenny turned over on his side to a fetal position, clutching his pained chest. Though he was out of danger for now, he still trembled with pain and shock. He quivered as he held himself weakly, starting to piece together in his head what just happened.

Stan, his  _ friend,  _ had just tackled him like a madman. He was used to Stan tackling him, sure, as well as wrestling and boxing here and there but those were only games, they were only light gestures of friendship and teasing. But what happened just now was anything but friendly. Kenny had feared for his life at the hands of a person he trusted, a person who assailed him without any reason or even a warning.

Kenny rubbed his eyes to hold back the watering, “W-What was that for, Stan? What’d I do?”

Stan had his back to Kenny as he stared out the window, appearing foreign and lost. He stood straight up with his fists clenched and ready, completely still in his standing.

Holding a hand to his side, Kenny strained himself to sit up, “Stan? You gotta to me, buddy.”

“Who hurt Kyle?”

The reply came hoarse and strained, as if it had been Stan, not Kenny, who was just fighting for his life. Stan clenched his fists, his head dropping to the ground as he repeated himself, “Who hurt Kyle, Kenny?”

Kenny was now at war with himself to hold back from crying, “N-Nobody, Stan.”

Stan met Kenny’s gaze now. His eyes were no longer filled with storm clouds, no, not at all. He looked like a human being again, with varying emotions and understandable pain. Stan was lost and confused as he went on, “Who hurt Kyle, Kenny? I can’t let anybody hurt Kyle, not ever, I can’t. I can’t…”

Kenny’s heart panged, “Oh God. Stan, nobody hurt Kyle. I didn’t mean that. I jus’ said that, thinkin’ it would help bring you back to reality.”

Kenny laughed nervously, surprised at the force behind his quick laughter, “I’m sorry I spooked you, buddy. I shoulda been m-m-more careful, yeah?”

Stan didn’t laugh back, “I have to go get Kyle.”

Kenny was still laughing, though the situation was far from funny. The tears were flowing freely now above his laughter, running down his face as he laughed uncontrollably.

“N-No, St-Stan, you don’t need to get Kyle! He-He’s fine! Nobody h-hurt him!” Kenny stammered through his laughter and tears.

“But you said it yourself. You said all the signs were there, that he could be getting-... that he’s being abu-... that he’s hurting,” Stan said. His pattern of speech was starting to distort, his tone wavering between worried and angry. He was no longer talking  _ to _ Kenny, but  _ at  _ him, spewing his distorted thoughts and refusing to listen to any responses.

“Who hurt him?” Stan went on, pacing the living room floor now, “Why did I ask that? Why did I ask that? I know the answer. I know who hurt him. I’ll bet you it was that son of a bitch drunk father of his… always drinking, always leaving, making Kyle uncomfortable…”

Kenny could only laugh and cry in his horror, watching his friend pace the floor like he was deranged. Watching him like that, it was easy to believe that Stan  _ was  _ deranged. He was practically demented, pacing the floor and talking to himself, possessed by his own petrifying thoughts.

“Or,” Stan went on, with a sudden change in pacing, “maybe it was even that little creep. That little  _ Ike.  _ He’s always on my case… always trying to keep Kyle away from me… he’s involved. He’s-”

Stan stopped short and made eye contact with Kenny, the sudden action sending a shiver down his spine.

“Ken, I’m so sorry,” Stan said, though he sounded far from actually being sorry, “I’m gonna go get Kyle. Are you okay being home alone at my house until I come back?”

It took a moment for Kenny to register the question. When he finally understood what Stan was asking, he nearly doubled over in hysterical laughter. The mere  _ simplicity _ of the question was so otherworldly out-of-context that it was concerning. The change in tension was so sudden that it nearly gave Kenny whiplash.

“Are you crying or laughing?” Stan asked, appearing genuinely nervous.

“B-Both!” Kenny exclaimed, clutching his pained sides. He struggled through his laughter and tears to stand up straight and get a grip on himself, “D-Don’t go to Kyle’s house, Stan. Le-Let’s talk, okay? Somethin’ tells me we need to talk first!”

Kenny’s words didn’t register. Stan was already putting on his winter coat and hat at the front door. When Kenny tried to approach him, Stan held his hand up in protest, “Don’t.”

“Stan,” Kenny huffed. Though he was immensely frustrated, he was thankfully starting to regain control of his voice, “I-I know I’m a dumbass and all, but I’m not dumb. I really,  _ really  _ think that you should stay put until you start thinking clearly. Let’s talk about this.”

“We’ll talk later. I’m going to get him now,” Stan said, slipping into his leather winter boots and tying them well.

“Stan, I love you to death, buddy, I really do,” Kenny reasoned, stamping his foot down, “But I really need you to pay attention for me right now. Can you do that, buddy? Do you even know what you  _ did  _ to me back there? Do you realize you hurt me, dude?”

Once again, Kenny’s desperate words fell on deaf ears. Stan was wrapping a scarf around his neck, not even looking at Kenny's direction. He paced around the front door, looking for something, and stressing over not being able to find it.

Despite the dire situation, Kenny couldn’t help but be curious. He dared to ask, “What’re you looking for, dude?”

“Gloves. I need gloves. Gloves,” Stan muttered frantically. He was now overwhelmed in his searching.

It broke Kenny’s heart to watch his friend reduced to this state, this animal-like, ravenous panic. Stan’s more common anxiety attacks or nervous breakdowns didn’t even hold a candle to this kind of demented behavior, this disturbing, unfulfilled  _ needing. _

Kenny could hardly take it. He wiped at the tears running down his face.

He had another bad idea.

Again, he didn’t like it. But after being knocked to the ground and nearly crushed to death, and now witnessing a madman in a dangerous state of mind, Kenny’s mind was too jumbled and panicked to think of a better idea. This was his only option.

Kenny took a deep breath, “Hey, Stan?”

Stan didn’t respond. He looked under the doormat for gloves, and nearly burst into tears when he saw they weren’t there.

Kenny tried again, “Stan, I saw some gloves-”

“-Shut up!” Stan hissed, finally acknowledging the other in the room. He went back to frantically searching.

“Stan-” Kenny raised his voice. He was terrified, but he didn’t show it, “I saw some gloves-- _ Kyle’s _ gloves- in the closet.”

The quarterback ceased to move a single muscle. He even stopped breathing.

“In… in the closet?” he repeated softly.

“In the closet.”

“Kyle’s gloves?”

“Yes.”

“Kyle?”

“Yes.”

Stan gingerly composed himself, moving slowly and gently. This was in complete contradiction to Kenny, who stood still in rigid fear, feeling his anxiety amplify inside. He had no choice but to play pretty, stand there and pretend everything was okay as he observed Stan moving toward the main closet in the hallway.

Kenny stood close when Stan opened the closet door. He frowned as he peered inside, unable to find the mentioned gloves. He looked to Kenny, as if in anticipation for a direction.

“Go on,” Kenny urged, indicating the closet, “They’re in there.”

Stan hesitated, but then stepped inside the closet and started to rummage through its contents.

Kenny made sure Stan was far enough inside before shutting the closet door and locking it.

He stood there aghast for a moment, bewildering at the fact that he just locked his friend inside a closet out of fear for his life. The idea didn’t sit well in Kenny’s stomach.

A moment none too sooner, excessive pounding exploded from the other side of the door. Stan knocked fervently, each and every knock making Kenny jump.

_ “Kenny?! Kenny! I swear to God, Kenny!”  _ Stan shouted from the other side of the door, following his call with more angry knocks on the door.

Kenny could only draw into himself, backing away with caution. He retreated to the Marsh’s kitchen, where he found a chair that he used to prop under the closet door’s handle, perchance it ever came unlocked.

The furious pounding ceased to stop, if anything, Stan was knocking even louder on the door; each one still managed to push Kenny further and further to the brink of insanity.

Trembling, Kenny backed away to the living room, where he was far enough away that the pounding sounds were barely above a whisper.

Trying to regain control of the situation, Kenny took a few deep breaths, before sliding down to sit on the floor in a defeated position.

“Shit, oh shit, oh shit…” he muttered to himself as he cradled his forehead in his hands. He considered pulling out his e-cigarette, but thought better of it. Groaning to himself, he pulled out his phone instead.

He had to ask for help. He had no idea what was going on.

But who could he possibly ask?

Not his parents, and not Stan’s parents either, that’s for sure; Stan didn’t need that kind of humiliation right now. 

Certainly not Cartman either. Though it was worth noting the bastard had been kinder to Kyle since the accident, he was still an insensitive asshole and he couldn’t navigate through a psychological breakdown if he tried.

He couldn’t get Butters; Butters was grounded right now.

Not Wendy either, that would just humiliate Stan even more.

For a brief moment, he considered calling one of Stan’s football teammates, but quickly dismissed the thought. They were all dumbass brutes when it came to emotional vulnerability, whether it be their own or someone else’s.

Kenny bit at his fingernails as he challenged himself to think. Why was it so difficult to find a decent human being to ask for help? Was  _ everyone _ a threat these days?

In a panic, Kenny dialed the first number he could think of. 

The person on the other line was quick to pick up the call. But Kenny didn’t give him the chance to speak first:

“Hey. I need your help. Something’s up with Stan.”

* * *

  
  


Ike’s parent-teacher meeting had been good, as always. His grades were astronomically high, as always, as was his overall behavior inside the classroom, as always. It wasn’t a surprise when his teacher suggested to Sheila Broflovski that Ike move forward and skip a grade. That was the third time he had been told that in his lifetime. He was already a junior in highschool, when he really should only be a freshman.

Though this wasn’t the first time he would be moving forward another grade, Ike took the news with impressive satisfaction. To be in the twelfth grade was practically a dream come true. It would mean that he and Kyle would be in the same grade, maybe even the same classes. If they shared the same grade, Ike could keep a watchful eye on his brother both at home and at school now, which would immensely ease his anxieties about Kyle getting into any sort of trouble outside of home.

It also meant Ike would have easier access to watching over that Stan Marsh character. Considering that Stan had been friends with Kyle since before Ike was even born, they technically grew up together. In his younger years, Ike couldn’t really care less about the guy. He was remote as a child, and never really gave any thought to who Kyle’s friends were. It wasn’t until middle school that Ike started noticing peculiarities about Kyle’s relationship with Stan; it was little things at first, like Stan holding open doors for Kyle, spending time together almost every night of the week, and texting each other on a daily basis. It eventually evolved to something a little more… possessive.

Ike hated to admit it, but he noticed that little by little, Kyle started cutting ties off with nearly all of his other friends. In truth, Kyle wasn’t a particularly popular individual, but he was best friends with the famous high school quarterback, and everyone in town knew him by name. He had been relatively close to a lot of other people, David, Christophe, Leslie, and a few others. 

Kenny and Cartman, too, were shied away from his life, albeit slightly. While Ike was eternally thankful that Eric Cartman was out of the picture, it was sad to see that Kyle and Kenny never spent time alone together anymore. It was always just Kyle and Stan.

Ike had asked Kyle about it one day. 

It had been past midnight, and they were studying their school notes together at the kitchen table, surrounded by nothing but the dim kitchen light and the distant noise of their parents arguing upstairs. Ike would have waited for a more appropriate time to ask it, but considering that they were studying at almost one in the morning, in addition to the fact he could distinctly make out the curses his parents were spewing out at each other, Ike wasn’t in his best state of mind. He was sleep-deprived and agitated, and he had this question burning in his mind for a long time now.

So he had simply asked. He asked why he never saw Kenny around anymore.

Ike remembered that Kyle had flushed red at first, before glancing down to his school notes, before answering, “Stan just gets nervous around him.”

“About Kenny?” Ike raised an eyebrow, “Stan does not get nervous around Kenny. What kind of fool do you take me for?”

Kyle’s eyes went wide, like a deer caught in the headlights, “No,  _ Stan  _ doesn’t get nervous. No, it’s more like… How do I say this? It’s more like he gets nervous with  _ me _ being around him.”

“Why?” Ike’s eyes narrowed.

Kyle forced a shrug, “Well, it’s not always. I mean, the three of us hang out together all the time; the four of us, if you count Cartman. We just don’t hang out separately anymore. Stan feels better when he can keep an eye on me.”

“Why, though?”

Kyle was visibly dismayed. With the weak intransigence of the overhead kitchen light spilling over him, he looked like he was on the verge of breaking down, head low-hanging and eyes hopeless.

But despite his undeniable sadness, Kyle maintained good posture and clarity in speech, when he admitted, “He just doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

Ike wasn’t an emotional individual, but he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pity, watching his big brother’s spirit crumble away in front of him. What had  _ happened  _ to him? Kyle was infamous for his hot temper and his do-or-die heroic adventures, always standing up for right in the face of wrong. But now, sitting before the kitchen table with a mountain of school notes in front of him, he sat without dignity, without any sense of self-assurance. He was distressed, Ike could see that clearly, and it broke his heart.

“Well,” Ike began, keeping his placid composure. He reached across the table and took Kyle’s hand in his, noticing its cold touch, “I don’t want you to get hurt, either, Kyle. But I want you to be happy. Spending time with Kenny makes you happy, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Kyle admitted, squeezing Ike’s hand in his. He bit his lips, like he was guilty for saying so, “But Ike, I just-... I want  _ Stan  _ to be happy, too. I’ve just been so worried about him lately. He’s not taking good care of himself, he’s not acting like himself. I’m really worried about him.”

Ike turned Kyle’s hand over in his and massaged his palm gently as he dared to say, “I understand that, Kyle. It’s very noble on your part. But that doesn’t have anything to do with Kenny or you spending time with him.”

“It  _ does _ though,” Kyle said weakly, tearing up a little.

Ike went still. His brother was not a crier.

He continued to massage Kyle’s palm, silently urging him to go on.

With his free hand, Kyle wiped at his eyes and sniffed. He started to  _ tap, tap, tap _ his foot beneath the kitchen table as he continued, “I-It’s just that Stan’s been unhappy lately, really not himself. And I-... I know this is gonna sound dumb, but just stick with me here, okay?”

Ike nodded, turning Kyle’s pale knuckles over in his hand.

Kyle sniffed, “-It’s just that looking out for me seems to bring him joy. It’s like-... He’s happy when he can keep tabs on me, when he knows I’m okay. So I just, I let him look out for me. I let him call me and text me at insane hours, I let him bring me lunch and drive me places, and I follow all the rules he gives me--”

Ike’s ears picked up on that word. Rules.

Hm. He would have to ask about that later.

A single tear finally slipped down Kyle’s dimly lit face when he hiccupped out his last sentence, “-I just want him to be happy, Ike…”

Ike frowned, “Kyle, I understand wanting to be a good friend, but you’re just hurting yourself, don’t you see that?”

Kyle shook his head, biting his lower lip. He retracted his hand away from his brother, but Ike shot back and took hold of the hand again.

“Sorry,” Ike said, unprepared, “I won’t accuse you of anything anymore. Just don’t pull away. Please.”

That last word must have struck a chord with Kyle, because he winced at its sound. With an embittered sigh, he relinquished his hand to Ike, who went back to tenderly caressing it inside his own. Ike tried for eye contact with Kyle again, but the redhead refused to even look in his direction.

Ike spoke with clarity and reassurance to regain his brother’s attention, “For the record, Kyle, I think you’re an exceptional friend.”

Kyle finally lifted his jade green eyes from the floor, tears still evident in their corners, “Thanks.”

“I’m sure you don’t believe me,” Ike went on, massaging with care, “But I think Stan doesn’t deserve you. You’re too extraordinary a friend.”

Kyle shook his head again, “Don’t say that, dude. I just- I just really want him happy again…”

Ike nodded to show that he was listening. He was finally starting to understand.

He pressed on, “Is that why you never told him about how Dad--”

Kyle cut him off, trembling as he spoke“--No, I told him. I told him. I told him.”

Ike offered a soft kiss to one of Kyle’s knuckles, a slight gesture that could have been rendered insignificant to anyone else, but it was radically so much more for them. The Broflovski brothers rarely made physical contact with one another; it was embarrassing, it was beneath them, they didn’t rely on touching to display their feelings. That’s why the little kiss startled Kyle, making him jump in his seat slightly.

Ike went back to massaging his hand in an effort to sooth him when he pressed on, “I think you’re lying, Kyle. You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“I-I-I  _ did, _ though-”

“-No, you didn’t,” Ike spoke lullingly, despite his indisputable concern, “You don’t need to lie to me, okay? I know you didn’t tell him.”

He felt Kyle’s cold hand go limp in his, like a dead fish.

Kyle released a shuddering breath, “I can’t tell him… I want to, but I-... I just know he’ll  _ hurt  _ himself if I do… I just- I couldn’t live with myself if I let that happen. H-He’s my super best friend…”

A stone dropped in Ike’s stomach, watching his big brother break down in front of him. 

The table was shaking with Kyle tapping his foot so rapidly. The overhead kitchen light was rattling, their parents arguing and stomping around on the floor just above them. A train whistled in the distance, contributing yet another din to the vexation of the moment.

Ike did nothing but watch on as Kyle softly cried, a sound so sad and gentle against the angry cacophonies and flickering lights of the night that it was burdensome.

That was the night that Ike knew for certain that he hated Stan Marsh.

But it wasn’t like this was something he could bring to Kyle’s attention. There were a lot of things Kyle didn’t need to know, for his own safety, of course; one of these secrets being Ike’s prediction that Stan possessed psychopathic tendencies. This wasn’t a fact, nor was it an accusation, just a prediction Ike made. It was a theory he would never in a million years say to Kyle’s face. Ike already knew that his stubborn brother wouldn’t take it well if he painted Stan in a negative picture, and he wouldn’t risk hurting his feelings either. Kyle was too good for that.

Plus, that would mean that Ike was just as bad as Stan when it came to upsetting Kyle. The damn quarterback. He was hurting Kyle without even realizing it.

So Ike never talked about the problems he had with Stan Marsh. He just made sure to keep tabs on the quarterback when he could, and check in with Kyle on a regular basis. 

And the detective-team-up game Stan proposed? Ha! That was laughable. Ike wasn’t an idiot. He was a goddamn government certified genius, and he was certainly aware of what was going on inside his own household. He knew Gerald was practically a madman, and he knew Sheila always turned a blind eye to her husband’s behavior; he had known these things for  _ years.  _ He actually picked up on them way before Kyle did, back before either of them even hit puberty.   
It was actually insulting that that pompous Stan Marsh believed Ike was shortsighted enough to not see what was going on inside his own house. 

All in good time, though, his anger could be used at a later time. For now, Ike played along with Stan’s tedious little fantasy, pretending to be a curious little schoolboy alongside him. Ike was even generous enough to provide Stan some insight on Kyle’s meds; not because he was helping him, but more along the lines of just keeping him distracted. The information he provided about Kyle’s medication status served as a sandbox Stan could play in while Ike was doing the  _ real  _ safeguarding for his brother.

While Stan obsessed over Kyle’s injury and Gerald’s recent brash behavior, Ike was busy planning. He had, at this point, a rough draft of his plan to secure his brother and himself, and it was nearly complete. But now that Ike was going to move to the twelfth grade alongside Kyle, Stan, and all their other friends, another variable was inserted into the equation, which slightly skewed Ike’s plan.

But that didn’t matter right now. Ike had plenty of time to plan. He always came out on top in the endgame, so there was no need to bother worrying about it.

When he and his adoptive mother finally arrived home after the tediously long parent-teacher meeting, Ike knew right away something was off. Something about the heavy atmosphere in his cold and unwelcoming household put Ike on edge. What was really worrisome was how  _ silent _ the house was, it was completely void of any and all sound, which made Ike go numb.

The unnerving atmosphere in the household didn’t disturb Sheila one bit. She made a beeline for the kitchen to pour herself some wine, ready to propose a toast to her favorite son moving up a grade once again.

Though Ike didn’t go to the kitchen, from where he stood he could hear the delighted chippers Sheila made as she talked to Gerald. She engaged him in conversation instantly, bubbling with delight as she bragged on and on. Ike peeked his head around the corner wall to see the two of them tapping wine glasses together, peering into each other’s eyes, not lovingly, but almost greedily.

Ike frowned. He knew where that was going.

With the daunting feeling still resonating in Ike’s body, he backed away cautiously. This wasn’t right. Something bad must have happened when he was away.

The thought occurred that he should go check in on Kyle, to see if he was okay. But before he could even make it down the hall, Ike’s phone rang.

He couldn’t help but be caught off guard when he read the contact name of the caller. A little confusedly, Ike answered the call. He didn’t have time to say anything, Kenny McCormick cut him off too soon:

_ “Hey. I need your help. Something’s up with Stan. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Implied/Referenced/Suspected drugging

The last thing Stan could remember before being locked inside his closet was the insane pulsing of adrenaline running through his body. Stan had already been on edge all day; first with Kyle’s strange behavior, followed by almost getting hit by Gerald Broflovski, then running away, then his car dying on the side of the road, then nearly freezing to death in a blizzard, and now he was trapped inside a pitch black, claustrophobic space, his heart racing as he pounded at the door.

He tried to remember how and under what circumstance he possibly ended up in here, but his mind drew a blank. He couldn’t think clearly, even though he tried. He was sweating out of every pore, inconveniently dressed in snowstorm attire, and breathing like he was running out of oxygen. And in that solidary, confining closet, he probably _was_ running out of oxygen.

His memories were a haze. All he knew for certain was that he had been playing Uno with Kenny, then Kenny told him that something happened to Kyle, and then he was locked in a closet after that.

Now that he thought about it, Stan couldn’t even remember just _what_ Kenny said. Stan only had a memory of Kenny on the floor, fear engrossing his trembling body as he cried. The memory was terrifying; Kenny was just crying there on the floor, absolutely terrified.

Stan’s mouth went dry. If something happened to Kyle that was horrific enough to scare Kenny like that, Kyle must be in real danger…

Feeling the adrenaline starting to course through his system again, Stan went back to pounding on the closet door, desperately knocking with all his god-given strength. The door shook with his rattling, but refused to unlock. The closet door served as an impenetrable barrier, closing Stan off from all light, sound, and life. He was surrounded by the terrible stench of sweat and fear reeking through the musty space. No sound existed but his uneven breathing and the belaboring of his fist against the door.

When Stan went too long just pounding, he slammed his palms against the door and screamed:

_“Help!_ Kenny, are you out there?! Kenny! Somebody help me! Please!”

He detected no noise from the hallway outside.

He slammed his hands down again.

“Please!” he cried, “I need to get to Kyle! _Kyle!”_

As soon as the name left his quivering lips, Stan was flooded with dread. He thought back to the panic in Kenny’s eyes, and the immediacy he possessed when he said Kyle was in trouble. He then thought back to the tense conference they shared in his car, the one where Kenny admitted that Stan’s worst fears about Kyle were probably a reality. Kyle was already practically bed bound with his injury, but now the item of abuse was on the table. Stan could hardly take it. He had been pledging to protect Kyle since they were little kids, to always look out for him and be there when he needed it. But Stan wasn’t there to help him; he was locked in his own closet, unable to escape, when his best friend was only a few blocks away in perilous danger.

Stan felt like he was going to throw up. He was swaying on his feet, and starting to see little dots in his vision. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but what the few things he was able to make out were now going blurry. It didn’t help that he was still dressed in his outdoor attire, heat and sweat encasing him.

Stan took his trademark blue and red hat off his head and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. He took off his coat and scarf, bizarrely wondering to himself why he hadn’t yet done so. He had been in the closet for a while now, but had yet to undress until now.

As Stan started unbuttoning his flannel, he stopped to think to himself. Just how long _has_ he been in here? His memories were still a haze, so he had no recollection of time passage whatsoever. He didn’t have his watch or phone with him, he remembered placing those on the coffee table when he played Uno with Kenny.

It felt like he had been in the closet for days, his unadulterated fears and anxieties exhausted him beyond belief, making him feel like he had aged a few years. But at the same time, Stan also felt like he hadn’t been here for longer than ten minutes. The tension was broiling inside of him constantly, keeping him on the ends of his feet and ready to fight at all times. It was miraculous how he felt both old and young at the same time.

Stan possessed no sense of time whatsoever, and was starting to fall under the apprehensive impression that he had been locked up for several hours.

Though after consoling himself, Stan knew that couldn’t be the case. His dad was supposed to return from work an hour or so after it was dark outside, and he most definitely would have found Stan in the closet around that time, so Stan decided it could not be later than seven or eight o’clock just yet.

But that still didn’t answer his question as to how long he had been in here! Any number of things could have happened to Kyle while he was locked up.

Stan swallowed. He went back to hitting the door with all the strength he could assemble, crying, “Somebody let me out of here! Please!”

It was then that Stan could detect the faint sound of shoes walking around on the other side of his barrier. He stopped pounding immediately, and pressed his ear to the door to see if he could pick up any more.

Stan’s theory was confirmed when he clearly heard two sets of shoes, two people, walking down the hallway, approaching his direction little by little. He could make out that the two people were in conversation, congregating softly in hushed tones. The people were both undeniably male, but Stan had yet to pick up on just who they were; with their whispered tones and the distortion of sound through the door, Stan couldn’t identify very much.

He felt his heart jump up to his throat. It was nerve-wracking to think that there were possibly strangers inside his home. He couldn’t see their faces, and he was still having trouble hearing their voices, so they very well could be obvious threats.

Stan backed away into the closet a little, hugging himself.

The thought occurred; what if it was just his dad? It wasn’t unusual for Randy to come home from work early, and he did have the healthy habit of sometimes bringing a friend or two home with him.

After listening to the voices some more, Stan forced himself to accept that it wasn’t the case. The voices weren’t near loud or deep enough to be Randy Marsh, though they were still most definitely male.

Maybe it was just Stan’s friends, then. Stan did, after all, have Kenny over just before he was locked in the closet. It was ultimately Kenny who told Stan about Kyle’s danger in the first place.

But there were two people…

Did that mean Kenny brought Kyle home?

“Kenny!” Stan cried, pounding on the door, “Kenny, is that you?! Kenny, let me out! Let me out of here, Ken! Do you have Kyle with you?!”

_“See, this is what I was talking about-”_ came a muddled voice from the other side of the door, _“he’s been aggressive all afternoon. I just sort of panicked.”_

Stan’s ears picked up on the word “aggressive.” He felt his heart beat impossibly faster in his charred throat when he considered that they were talking about Gerald. While Stan didn’t know for sure what Gerald could have possibly done to Kyle, he could certainly imagine it, and he didn’t like what his gruesome imagination had to offer.

He debated whether he should go back to pounding on the door or just listen to the people talking, when the door remarkably opened in front of him.

When it was pulled aside, Stan winced at the sudden light and stumbled backwards. When his eyes adjusted, he could lucidly see that the people were not strangers. Kenny McCormick, dressed in simple baggy streetwear, his blonde hair dry and tussled, stood nervously by the door. He stood alongside the last person on the planet Stan expected to see. Ike Broflovski was erect by the closet door frame, appearing intimidating in his slick, black clothes.

Stan wanted to attack the guy, but found he was just too stunned to move an inch. 

He looked to Kenny, anticipating an explanation, but he only gave Stan a sad look. Feeling dismayed, Stan just stood there in the closet. His adrenaline was slowing tremendously, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. With the sweat running down his back and neck, and his breaths coming out uneven, he probably looked disoriented, too.

“Wha-... Did you guys not hear me knocking on the door?” Stan asked breathily, surprised at how winded his voice was.

Ike was impassive, “Why’s your shirt open, Marsh?”

Stan was surprised to notice that his flannel was, in fact, unbuttoned all the way. For some reason, it embarrassed him. Of all the things he could worry about right now, his unbuttoned shirt was somehow the bête noire of his circumstance.

He did his best to appear undisturbed when he worked on buttoning it back up, but that was difficult for him to do when his friend stood there doing nothing and his enemy stood there watching and criticizing.

When he finished, Stan cleared his throat. He was not going to beat around the bush, not even for Kenny’s sake. He had been locked in a closet for God knows how long, meanwhile his super best friend was in danger just down the street; he refused to waste any more time here.

“Okay, I don’t know why you brought this asshole here, Kenny, but I don’t care,” Stan said, grabbing his hat from the closet floor and pushing his way down the hall, “I’m going to go get Kyle right now, we’ll talk about this later.”

“Stan, wait!” Kenny cried, “We gotta talk first, dude!”

“No,” Stan said, unlocking the front door, “Kyle needs me.”

“No, he doesn’t, Marsh.”

Stan stopped and turned around, “What did you say to me, Ike?”

Stan turned around fully expecting to see that black-hole expression that only Ike could have in his piths of dominance, but was instead bewildered to see him calm and almost gentle in his presence. His ebony-colored eyes were open with patience, his posture sincere.

Stan was so taken aback by Ike’s camaraderie that he dropped his hat.

The Canadian looked on cordially, “I said that my brother doesn’t need you. And it’s true, he doesn’t. I wouldn’t lie to you, Marsh, I expect you to believe that. This is all just one grandiose misunderstanding.”

Stan was admittedly baffled, “Kenny, what’s the creep talking about? And, why is he in my house?”

Ike smirked amusedly, “Is ‘creep’ the only vocabulary word you use to describe me?”

Kenny was less amused. If anything, he looked guilty, “Stan, it’s just that you haven’t been _listening_ to me. I’ve been telling you from the beginning that it wasn’t true, that nothing happened to Kyle.”

The room, which had been spinning angrily around the disoriented quarterback, came to a screeching stop. He could see clearly now, his vision lucid. The sweat that had been encasing his body beneath the clothes turned ice cold, freezing him. It was as though with those very words, some miracle drug was wafted under Stan’s nose, instantly bringing him back to reality.

“But you said- you said-”

“-It was just to get your attention, buddy,” Kenny worried his bottom lip, “I’m sorry.”

Stan hung his head low, starting to feel lethargic. He folded his hands in his pockets to hide them, “Well. You certainly got my attention. Didn’t you?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Stan,” Kenny whined, he looked like he was on the verge of crying, “You know I would never hurt you on purpose. You know that, man. I’m so sorry, Stan.”

“Why’s he here?” Stan repeated, pointing a finger at the third party in the room.

Kenny jumbled out a response, “He’s only- I was only trying to- I was panicking, okay? And, I don’t know, I just thought that a guy who literally lives with Ky would be able to set it straight for you, you know? Like, you’d take his word over mine.”

Despite trying to maintain assertiveness, Stan couldn’t help but feel for Kenny. He was deeply apologetic, so much so that it wounded Stan to watch. He made a mental note to ensure Kenny understood he was forgiven at the end of all of this, he clearly did nothing out of malice and deserves no resentment because of that. Stan just couldn’t tell him that right now, not when the creepy kid was standing right there in front of him.

“So, what?” Stan charged, addressing Ike now, “You just swooped in here to be a good neighbour and tell me everything’s okay?”

“Partly,” Ike said calmly, “That and to enlighten you with some great news.”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat, “About Kyle?”

“Partly.”

“...”

“...”

“Well, are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to get it out of you?”

Ike was dangerously composed, “Oh, Marsh, there’s no need for that. Firstly, I was granted permission to skip another grade. The school counselors still have some rearranging to do with my schedule, but other than that, everything is all set for me. I should be joining your graduating class this coming Monday.”

Stan felt a bombshell drop on top of him, but Ike did not seem to care. If anything, his interest peaked, “There’s one more thing. About our little investigation?”

Stan was swamped with anticipation.

“You don’t need to worry about it anymore,” Ike said. His expression was nonchalant, but his words were so cold, “I’ve got everything under control. I don’t want you to worry about him anymore, not when you demonstrate this kind of behavior.”

The silence was deafening. It was Kenny who broke it, “Investigation…?”

Neither Stan nor Ike made a move to answer. When the silence drew on for long enough, Ike clapped his hands together, “Well. Thank you for having me. I’ll be on my way now.”

Stan threw his arm over the doorknob.

Ike blinked, a hint of curiosity evident behind his black eyes, “Is something wrong, Marsh?”

“I knew from the start you were in on it, Ike,” Stan flared, his body tensing up, “I said that, didn’t I, Kenny? That I knew Ike was in on it.”

Ike smirked haughtily, “What, may I ask, am I ‘in’ on?”

“Abusing Kyle,” Stan said, capable of putting the horrid images into words for the first time, “You always stop me when I try to ask him about it, you never give me a straightforward answer, you’re always keeping me away from him. I’ve tried so many times to ask him what was happening to him at home, but somehow you were always there to shut him up! I knew there had to be a reason he wouldn’t talk to me, but I can’t believe I was stupid enough to not realize it was you holding him back!”

Ike deadpanned, but Stan wasn’t done.

“What the fuck is it that you and your father have been up to, huh? He starts drinking early in the morning, and you don’t do anything about it?! What is wrong with you?!” Stan spat, “Don’t you see you’re putting Kyle in danger?”

“Watch it, Marsh,” Ike ordered, tone brisk, “Listen, I hate Gerald just as much as the next guy, but you don’t need to be insulting me. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve not hurt Kyle. Keep in mind that I’ve been home looking after him ever since the accident. Three days now, I’ve tended to his injuries and I’ve given him his medicine. Do you still think I’m as bad as Gerald?”

“Medicine?”

“That’s what I said.”

Then it dawned on Stan, raising a stir inside of him. He nearly laughed for joy at the sudden eureka, but instead of laughing, he made his move; “Hey, Ike. What kind of fourteen year old knows about pharmacy?”

Ike crossed his arms, “What are you playing at?”

“I remember you saying over text that you’re studying all of the ingredients in Kyle’s meds. You also said something about training under a pharmacist!” Stan threw his arms in the air, “What kind of fourteen year old knows about pharmacy? A certified genius, maybe, sure, I’ll give you that. But how would you be able to train under a pharmacist?! You’ve got to be over twenty to do any sort of internship in the medical field, right?”

Ike blanched. To Stan’s wonderful pleasure, Ike started to look uneasy.

Stan pushed on.

“Those ‘nighttime pills,’” Stan enunciated, frowning at the sinister nature of their name, “The ones you said Kyle takes. They aren’t really his anger-issue meds, are they? They’re something else.”

Ike didn’t move.

“Answer me!” Stan cried.

Ike defied. He was struggling to keep his composure. He was obviously riled up on the inside, maybe even afraid, but he kept his arms crossed and looked on wordlessly.

“Son of a bitch,” Stan muttered to himself, “Okay. Fine. Don’t answer me. I’ll just safely assume that they actually _are_ sleeping pills, ones that you somehow gave him. You just wanted to knock him out, huh? To keep him quiet, so he won’t spill anything about what you and your father have done to him.”

Kenny’s mouth hung wide open in disbelief, “Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit,” he said under his breath.

He turned to Ike and practically begged, “Ike, please tell me you didn’t _drug_ Kyle!”

“That is utterly impossible,” Ike stated, finally retaliating, “How would I be able to prescribe anything at all? As you’ve said before, I’m only fourteen-”

Stan cut him off, “-You have your ways, we all know this! You’re more resourceful than Cartman! We all know what you’re capable of doing. Don’t deny that you were involved in a jewel heist before you even entered high school!”

In height, they stood evenly, but Stan swore he felt ten inches taller than his counterpart, “I was right about you all along, kid. You really hurt him, huh?”

“I have not,” Ike weakened.

“You _have_ , though. I can see it so clearly now. You try to cover it up, but all the evidence is right there!” 

“I don’t like your tone. I-It would suit you to calm down.”

“How can I? How can I calm down when I’ve finally discovered the truth, after so long!” as the words soared from his tongue, Stan felt an instant high from all the adrenaline. For the first time, he had Ike right where he wanted him, beneath Stan.

“But it’s not the truth. I’ve not hurt him. Not like--” Ike stopped.

“Go on!” Stan dared.

Ike glanced to the left, “I shouldn’t.”

“No, I insist!” Stan relaxed his hold on the doorknob, “Enlighten me.”

Ike finally lifted his gaze, piercing Stan with those foreboding dark eyes, “I only wanted to say that I’ve not hurt him, not like you have.”

Stan’s jaw clenched tight, “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t know? I’m sure you do.”

Kenny stuck his hand up, “Um. Maybe we should sto-”

“-No,” Stan cut in. He looked Ike dead in the eye, “I want to hear what the little creep has to say.”

If Ike was afraid, he didn’t show it. His posture was bored, relaxed, but Stan could see vitality starting to brew in his eyes, rejuvenating him with every word he said, “Well, if you’ve forgotten--or, if you’re just too dense to see it- I’ll remind you. You’re a little bit of a vampire, Marsh.”

Stan’s eye twitched, “‘Vampire?’”

“Sure,” Ike went on, waving his hand, “Moping and brooding all the time. Sucking the life and soul out of an innocent somebody for your own benefit.” 

“You don’t mean-”

“Kyle? Yes, I mean him,” Ike said that last bit with a hint of remorse, almost sadly. But the weakness lasted for only a moment, “In fact, I’m beginning to think my brother is developing some sort of milder version of Stockholm syndrome for you, Marsh. The way he behaves around you is quite concerning, and on a little tangent, the same could be said about you around him. I know that he obediently follows all the rules you give him; and before you take it out on Kyle for spilling, don’t. I figured those out on my own. I also know how eager he is to follow said rules out of fear of hurting your feelings. It’s rather touching on my brother’s part, but you know, I am starting to worry for him.”

“That…” Stan was horror-struck, “That is the worst thing you could _ever_ accuse me of.”

Ike lolled his head to the side in a gentle motion. He pierced the quarterback with his never-ceasing black-hole eyes, “But it’s not an accusation, is it?”

“No, it’s a lie!” Stan fumed, “I swear to God, it’s a lie!”

“Wa- Wait a minute!” Kenny was flustered. He ran between the two of them, holding his arms far apart to separate them, “What the fuck is going on?! I got lost in this debate, like, ages ago. Let’s sit and talk. Let’s just sit and talk about stuff that actually makes sense, okay?”

“I can’t-” Stan choked out, a lump rising in his throat, “I-I-I can’t. I’m wasting time here. I can’t- I-”

He unlocked the door behind his back, forbidding his guests to see.

“I need to go get Kyle,” he said. 

He threw the front door wide open, the wood slamming into Kenny’s face, sending him backward to collide with Ike. He fell on top of the younger, both of them stunned by the sudden blow. But by the time both of them recovered, Stan was already two blocks down the street, running with speed he never knew he possessed.

He could hear the faint sounds of Ike and Kenny calling his name, but they were far behind him, and nothing could stop him now.

* * *

Stan could only thank his years of intensive physical conditioning and his sheer burning desire to keep his best friend safe for getting him to the house so quickly. He didn’t even run for seven minutes, but he somehow managed enough brute force to arrive on site five entire blocks away. The blizzard outside had died down, and it was now gently snowing, but the roads were still inches thick with ice; it was astounding Stan never slipped once during the harsh run.

He arrived winded, but didn’t slow down until he was on the porch steps, when he hindered so he could open the door.

He prepared to run again, to fight, even, but stopped himself when his eyes landed on something peculiar in the dining area.

Both Gerald and Sheila Broflovski lay draped over the dining table, their faces pressed against the wood, their arms extended. Empty wine glasses littered the table, one half empty bottle clutched in Gerald’s fist. Sheila snored softly, her red hair messing as she slept, while Gerald muttered to himself bitterly.

Stan couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. The scene reminded him all too much of how he used to walk in on his own father after long days at school, sometimes even after waking up early in the morning.

He held in a shuddering breath and slowly started making his way down the hallway so he could reach the staircase. He silently took off his shoes before he crept upstairs, as to not create any disturbance. Just as he reached the top of the stairs, he was hit by an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.

He had done this already. This very morning, he had crept just as quietly up the stairs and searched the rooms for his super best friend, to check on Kyle. Thankfully this time, he would be doing something better than just checking.

He didn’t hear any sounds coming from the television in the living room, so he moved on to Kyle’s room. Just as he was about to go in, he paused. He had an idea. He retreated backwards a few feet, where another door stood, sleek and painted black. 

Stan entered Ike’s room with a strange confidence simmering in his gut. He realized as he walked around inside, he had never been in this bedroom before. Up until about the third grade, Ike and Kyle shared a room, and that was the first kind of exposure Stan had ever had to Ike. After Ike moved into his own room, Stan was never interested enough to look into it; he only ever came over for Kyle anyway.

Unsurprisingly, the bedroom was very modern, with sleek, cutting-edge furniture and an innovative aesthetic. All of Ike’s belongings were organized neatly, not a scrap of trash on the floor, and not one item of potpourri anywhere. As Stan took in his avant-garde surroundings, he couldn’t help but absentmindedly notice how much nicer Ike’s things were compared to Kyle’s. The overhead lighting was front line, and the computer on Ike’s genteel black desk was state-of-the-art. Even Ike’s smartphone, which lay right in the middle of the desk, was amazingly new.

As Stan took a closer look at the desk, something stuck out to him. There was a long drawer just under the topside, it was sealed shut except for a little something, a little papery something, poking out from a slim opening.

Stan cast a glance over his shoulder, nervously. He wasn’t usually one to feel paranoid, but the extremity of what he was hoping to find put him on edge. The idea of being caught invading Ike’s privacy red-handed was daunting. He couldn’t risk it, not when he’s this close to confirming his suspicions about the little creep.

After ensuring that no one was following him, Stan opened the drawer. He felt immense satisfaction when he discovered exactly what he was looking for. Inside the drawer lay a sealed plastic bag of round, white pills, the edge of the bag poking out of the drawer just slightly. On the surface of the bag were large, black letters scripted with permanent marker, reading:

“FOR KYLE.”

Stan scowled. 

He was right. That creep.

As much as Stan knew the creep wasn’t trustworthy, it was still overwhelming that the kid would drug his own brother to sleep. It was downright abhorrent that Ike could do that to Kyle, who had been the most supportive and doting older brother Stan had ever seen. How could Ike dope someone who was so good to him? After all those years of brotherly devotion, Kyle did not deserve something as vulgar as that!

Stan felt a wave of resentment overcome him, thinking about how Kyle was medicated most likely without his knowledge or consent, without Stan being there to help him.

That Ike Broflovski was going to pay.

Stan tucked the bag of sleeping pills into the inner pocket of his coat, where it was guaranteed to stay secured. Casting one last disapproving gaze around the room, Stan stormed out and shut the door behind him.

Despite being absolutely repulsed only seconds before, Stan was miraculously already feeling better. Just the satisfaction that he was right about Ike all along acted as a high, his brain flooding with endorphins. He felt a sense of superiority kindling in his chest as he walked down the hall, his confidence growing with every step he took.

By the time he got to Kyle’s room, he wasn’t at all intimidated to enter, he was actually excited. Stan flung the door wide open, allowing the hallway light to flood the otherwise pitch-black bedroom. The lights were off, the window blinds were drawn shut, and Kyle was barely detectable, curled up at the edge of his bed inside a cocoon of quilts.

Stan felt his heart swell at the sweet sight. It wasn’t often Kyle slept well, this Stan knew, so it was good to see him resting, even though it was too early to be in bed.

Stan’s endorphins slowed slightly, they didn’t let up, but they slowed. Though Stan’s sense of time was skewed after being locked in the closet, he was starting to come to terms with what time it was. When he had been running outside, the sun had still been up. Through his thinking, Stan realized that it really _was_ too early to be in bed. Why would Kyle be asleep so early?

The pills in Stan’s pocket became heavy.

Could Ike already have--?

Stan didn’t finish the thought. He chose to go through the bedroom, moving softly on the tips of his toes. When he reached the bedside, Stan got down on his knees and tapped the sleeping figure gently on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered, “Kyle, get up.”

Kyle groaned and turned over.

Stan stood up now and walked around the bed to get closer. He lightly tugged the quilt down to Kyle’s waist while whispering, “You gotta get up. Come on, let’s go.”

Kyle visibly shivered at the exposure of the room. He didn’t even open his eyes as he groaned.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Kyle muttered in his state of lethargy. He grabbed the purple quilt and tried to nestle back in it, but Stan pulled it away from him again.

“Come on, Kyle. We’re leaving,” Stan said. He spotted Kyle’s green ushanka and orange winter coat draped over his dresser. Flicking on the lights as he approached them, Stan took the winter items and tossed them in Kyle’s direction.

“Stan!” Kyle exclaimed vocally now, after being hit with his weather attire and wincing under the bright light, “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

“Taking you away,” Stan replied honestly. Inside his head, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself; he was making it sound like an elopement.

Kyle was less pleased, “Where?”

Stan shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because I gotta get you out of here, Kyle,” Stan said calmly. He sat down on Kyle’s bed to level with him, “It’s not safe for you here.”

The redhead looked like he had been violated. His eyes were no longer evidence of sleepiness, but were wide open with disbelief. He wrung the unkasha in his hands nervously as he spoke, “I know that. But- But why do _you_ know that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Stan replied. He indicated the green hat, “Put it on.”

“No.”

“Yes, put it on, Kyle, I don’t want you to get sick out there, it’s cold. There was a blizzard just a few hours ago.”

Kyle shoved the ushanka underneath his pillow to defy. He turned to face Stan with a fire burning in his eyes, though he kept his voice under control, “You’re not making any sense, dude. I can’t just up and leave. I’m-”

Kyle hesitated before finishing, in a softer voice, “-I’m worried about you, Stan.”

Stan smiled. Though the situation was completely inappropriate and his super best friend was obviously distressed, Stan couldn’t help but feel an embracing warmth at the attention. It warmed his heart, it made him feel needed.

“Thank you,” Stan said, meaning it. He unzipped the orange snowcoat and held it out in front of Kyle, like how a mother would before dressing her youngest child, “I’m worried about you, too. That’s why you have to stay warm when we go. Come on. Put it on.”

Kyle gently pushed the coat away, “Stan…”

Stan pushed the coat forward, with a little more force, “Kyle, this isn’t up for debate right now. I have to get you out of here, you’re not safe here.”

“I know, but-” Kyle drew his injured foot inward on the bed, holding it gently as he said, “Listen, Stan. I know you’re just trying to be a good friend, but I can see that you’re not in the right state of mind right now. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I _do,_ though!”

“You _don’t_ , though,” Kyle stated assertively, “If you were in the right state of mind, would you ever wake me up from my sleep and tell me to leave with you, just like that?”

Stan tilted his head to the side, confused, “Yes, of course.”

Kyle’s stare intensified, not aggressively, but worriedly, “Would you really?”

“Yeah. If I knew you were in danger, if you weren’t safe, I would come help you, of course. I can’t just sit idly by when you’re in trouble. I’m always going to look out for you, Kyle,” Stan said sincerely, resting his hand on Kyle’s knee.

At the touch, Kyle drew his knee back in and covered his lap with the quilt. He shook his head, “No, Stan. You’re-” he bit his lip, “You’re not yourself, Stan. Looking out for me is one thing, telling me to run away with you is different. Go home and come back tomorrow, okay? We can talk about this when you’re rested.”

“No, Kyle!” Stan cried, launching out and grabbing him by the shoulders, “I’m not going to leave you here! Why would I ever do that to you?!”

“Stan!” Kyle gasped at the sudden grab. He didn’t fight back, but he stiffened, “Stan- You- I-I’m not feeling well right now, Stan. C-Come back later when I feel better.”

Without asking permission first, Stan shot his hand up to Kyle’s forehead to feel for a temperature, making the redhead wince at the touch. His forehead was warm, but not feverish; it was only hot warm the quilts and being asleep.

“You’re not sick,” Stan stated, and returned his hand to hold Kyle by both shoulders, “You can make the journey outside, you’re fine.”

“No, I mean-” Kyle was avoiding eye contact now, “-I mean, I have a migraine right now, Stan! That’s why I was sleeping so early. I have a migraine, I’m not feeling well, so I thought resting would help.”

“Well, you can rest whenever we get to where we’re going,” Stan reasoned.

“Where are we going, though?” Kyle whimpered.

“I’ll decide when we get there.”

As the words left his mouth, Stan realized that the person he held in his hands was not his super best friend. He was Kyle Broflovski, sure. But he was not the resilient firebrand who laughed in the face of danger. He wasn’t the spicy redhead from Jersey who stood up for what he believed in, a master of both technology and economics, and the best friend he could possibly ask for. The person Stan held in his hands was small and confused, looking back at Stan with a confusion so tremendous it was worrisome.

With a light sigh, Kyle raised his hands up, surrendering, “You know what? Fine.”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat, “Really?”

“Sure. Whatever. Fine,” Kyle muttered, “Just-... Just give me a few minutes to pack, or whatever, ‘kay?”

“Okay, sounds good,” Stan smiled toothily, elated by Kyle’s surprising consent. It wasn’t that he thought Kyle wouldn’t agree to leave beforehand, Stan had only anticipated a bit more of a fight from his usually feisty friend. But he was thankful nonetheless for Kyle’s agreement. He patted his friend’s shoulders approvingly, before stepping outside the bedroom and finding a place to wait in the hallway.

As Stan waited, he heard a little _chirp_ sound that rang above the silence.

Curiosity ensued the quarterback after realizing that the sound came from Ike’s room. He cast a glance back to Kyle’s door. When he was sure that Kyle wasn’t going to follow, Stan once again snuck inside Ike's bedroom.

The first thing his eyes fell on when he entered Ike’s room was the modern smartphone that rested on the desk. Surely enough, it’s screen was lit, showing that it received a new text from Kyle.

Stan frowned. Surely Kyle wasn’t keeping things from him. 

Though he knew it was distastefully rude to read other people’s texts, Stan felt the burning need to see what Kyle said. After all, Kyle was secretly passing a message to his brother, the same person who _drugged_ him to sleep; Kyle could potentially be putting himself in danger. The idea was disturbing.

Stan swiped across the home screen to read the text:

K. Broflovski: **Hey, ike. Haven’t seen you since this morning, i’m guessing you’re at a friend’s house? Idk. Just hear me out rl quick.** **  
****I’m going to spend the night with Stan. He’s acting weird right now & I need to be sure he makes it through the night. I think he’s going to take me somewhere other than his house, but don’t worry I’ll be fine. I promise. This will blow over soon, it always does. He gets confused sometimes but he’s always fine the next day. I’ll be back in the morning after he’s feeling better.** **  
** **And hey, i just remembered tomorrow’s Saturday! Maybe you and I can do something together since you’ll b out of school with me.** **  
** **Don’t let mom or dad worry. See u soon little bro**

Stan reread the text three times to make sure he was understanding correctly. Was Kyle really so naive? He was always regarded as “the smart one” of Stan’s clique, always having direction and purpose, not to mention impressive school grades. But somehow Kyle believed that it was okay for him to go back home?

Not only that, but from this message, Stan was under the impression that Kyle didn’t fully believe Stan when he said he was taking him away. It was hard to stomach the notion that maybe Kyle didn’t trust him.

Stan scowled as he read over the text again. It seemed evident that Kyle trusted Ike more than he did Stan--his super best friend of seventeen years of living. It stung him, it really did.

But the quarterback knew better, he knew it couldn’t be entirely Kyle’s fault that he had these ideas. He had to be under the influence of his father and brother. It wasn’t that far-fetched to believe, considering that the dad was a definite raging alcoholic, and the brother was a manipulative prick with access to hazardous pills. Not to mention, both were skilled in psychological warfare; poor Kyle must have been brainwashed

Stan teared up a bit, but did not permit himself to cry. It agonized him that this kind of abuse could have been happening under his nose for a long time, and somehow, Stan was only intervening _today_. 

It reminded him of how he felt when Kenny and his sister were finally taken away from their parents’ custody. Stan had been so happy that he finally intervened, but he had felt equally guilty that he hadn’t sooner. After the court trial, Stan had apologized to Kenny, on the verge of crying, begging forgiveness for not helping him sooner. But in response, Kenny just laughed and grinned toothily, saying “Hey, man. Chill. You still saved my bony ass. Thanks to you and Kyle, it won’t happen again.”

It won’t happen again.

With a swipe, Stan deleted the text from Ike’s phone, making the message impossible to recover.

He set the phone back down on the desk and then retreated to the hallway, where he was surprised to see that Kyle had yet to leave his room. He opened the door without knocking to see Kyle still sitting on his bed, still wearing his pajamas, and still unprepared to leave soon.

“Kyle?” Stan started, an eyebrow raised, “Why aren’t you packing?”

Kyle huffed, “Well, Stanley, if you must ask. It’s just- It’s hard to move around with-” he indicated his broken ankle and his back with defeated gestures, and didn’t bother to finish the sentence.

“Oh,” Stan felt a quick flash of guilt, “Let me help you, then.”

Before Kyle could protest, Stan went through his bedroom, gathering a week’s worth of clothes, toiletries, and other personal belongings that he might need, leaving behind Kyle’s phone and school laptop. When all packing was said and done, Stan emptied the books and notebooks from Kyle’s school backpack, and then filled it with his scavenged items. The other in the room just looked on with a hint of sarcasm in his eyes, still sorely under the impression that Stan was overreacting and that everything he was doing was just because he “wasn’t himself.”

Stan made no comment. He knew Kyle was sick in the head at this point, there was no need to remind him of that.

When he finished packing, Stan turned to his friend excitedly, “We’re all set, then!”

Wordlessly, Kyle motioned to the green pajamas he was dressed in.

“What, do you need me to dress you?” Stan asked.

Kyle flushed red, “What?! No!”

Stan did his best to bite back a smile of amusement, “It’s no big deal, Kyle, honestly.”

“You are _not_ dressing me. I am not an invalid!”

“Okay, Kyle, whatever you say,” Stan rolled his eyes, “But for the record, helping somebody get dressed isn’t a crime, especially if that somebody can’t do it on their own.”

Kyle drew his arms around himself uncomfortably, and Stan couldn’t help but see it. As he watched his friend shy into himself, an ugly thought sprung up in the back of Stan’s mind.

“Hey, Kyle,” Stan started, his mouth going dry, “Who’s been dressing you since the accident?”

Kyle didn’t flush. Instead, he paled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, Kyle, really. I think I need to know,” Stan’s eyes travelled down to a peculiar looking bruise on Kyle’s wrist. He swallowed painfully, “...Was it your brother or your dad?”

“What is it with all these questions?” Kyle cried, “Why are you interrogating me? I’ve done nothing but comply! I don’t need to tell you who fucking takes my clothes on and off, it’s fucking _embarassing_ , Stan!”

Upon looking closer, Stan saw that what he thought was a bruise was actually just a stray piece of purple fabric from the quilt. He took immense comfort in realizing his mistake. That was a major load off his chest.

“Okay,” Stan eased, “Do you want to just go in your pajamas?”

Kyle froze, bewildered by Stan’s sudden change in mood. Kyle’s state of being was a far cry from comfortable, but he nodded anyway, uneasily watching his friend.

Stan gave him a comforting tap on the shoulder, “That’s cool with me. It’s Friday, anyway, you should be allowed to be in your pajamas. At least put on your hat and coat, okay?”

Kyle did as he was told, avoiding eye contact and saying nothing as he did. When Stan saw that he was ready, he kneeled down to where Kyle could reach his back and said, “Okay, time to go.”

He assisted Kyle up onto his back, piggy-back style, just like how they did earlier that morning. Stan tucked his arms under Kyle’s knees to hold him steadily in place, only after grabbing the backpack from the floor.

Even with the weight of Kyle on his back, Stan was light on his feet as he hurried down the hall and down the stairs. He was more grateful than ever for his football training for turning him into the impressive bulk he was today. He remembered to slip on his shoes when he reached the end of the staircase, a place where he and Kyle were close enough to see Gerald and Sheila passed out in the dining area.

Stan paid them no mind as he slipped Kyle off his back and set him down on the first stair. He bent down to talk to him, like he would a child, “I don’t think I told you this, but my car died this morning. It’s in a safe spot, so don’t freak out, but I’m going to need to borrow your dad’s car.”

Kyle’s eyes flew wide open, “Stan!” he hissed, “We only have one car, you can’t do that!”

“He doesn’t need it,” Stan took a long look at the drunkard drooling all over the table, “Not anytime soon.”

Kyle could only whimper to himself and bury his face in his hands, Stan’s heart lurching a little at the sight. Not that it mattered; Kyle’s dismay was temporary, and it was not going to stop his plight. Stan disappeared into the kitchen, and then swiftly returned, spinning a ring of keys around his finger.

He lifted Kyle up onto his back again, sadly noticing how light he was, before he grabbed the backpack and headed for the front door. Using the key ring in his hand, he locked the door behind him once they were outside, and then treaded down the porch steps to the driveway, Kyle hanging on his back with ennui.

Kyle was like a ragdoll in his arms when Stan assisted him into the passenger’s seat. He was reaching for Kyle’s seatbelt when the redhead suddenly slapped his hand away.

Stan took his hand back in disbelief, tenderly rubbing where it stung. Admiring Kyle under the dim lighting the Sun offered above the snow, Stan realized for the first time just how exhausted his friend really looked.

Kyle sighed and rubbed his temple, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just- I can handle a seatbelt. I don’t need you to do everything for me.”

Stan smiled, “C’mon. I don’t do _everything_ for you.”

Kyle only continued rubbing his temple, his expression was stern but his voice was soft, “I know, but I worry for you sometimes, you know? It’s like, you’re just so concerned with me that you forget to look after yourself.”

The quarterback shook his head, the smile still on his face, “No, that’s not true. Believe me, by looking after you, I _am_ looking after myself.”

With that point made, he closed the car door and moved on to the driver’s seat. He had to adjust the mirrors before pulling out of the driveway and driving down the road, Kyle eerily silent in his passenger’s seat. He drove on until he could no longer see the Broflovski household in his rearview mirror, and then drove onward from there, the sun setting softly out his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know people don't like responding to author's note, but I sort of need some reader insight on this one, haha:  
> Do I tag this exiting as "running away" or "kidnapping?"
> 
> Thank you for reading! Stay safe out there!


	11. Chapter 11

The list of reasons why Stan was thankful for football was ever-expanding. It seemed that with every hour, he found another reason why he was grateful for the sport. His mind was a broken record at this point; the only thoughts he seemed to have these days were about Kyle, Kyle’s potential dangers, and being thankful for football.

The reason Stan found himself having gratitude for his favorite sport once again was because he realized just how well he was driving as nighttime approached.

Stan was used to waking up early and immediately driving to the fields for practice, and then staying late that same night for more practice, always driving to and from the fields when it was obscenely dark outside. Over the gruelling hours he dedicated to his craft, he subsequently picked up the rare skill of driving well in the dark. Not to mention, Stan was always elected team-driver when they had a traveling game. The school bus driver was a maniac and no one on the football team trusted her, so when they had to travel, they divided into little groups and scrambled over packing into each other’s cars. Stan’s car was always the first one full; his teammates were always eager to ride with him, knowing he was stable enough a driver that they could afford to be obnoxious without distracting him. It was slightly annoying, but it was sweet how much they admired him, really. Stan still enjoyed their intentions.

So yet again, Stan found himself owning a great deal of gratitude for the sport he loved for teaching him to drive safely in the night. He needed that kind of safety right now; he had just had a hectic day, probably the most eventful day of his life so far, and he still wasn’t completely out of the clear. Stan and Kyle were still driving along the highway in Gerald’s car, far from home, but far from safety, too.

Or at least,  _ Stan _ was still driving along the highway.

Kyle was asleep, and had been for the first hour of the drive. He slept with his face leaning against his hand, pressed against the window, his delicate breath slightly fogging up the glass. His curly hair was mussed, his hat had fallen off and landed in his lap, and he looked anything but comfortable in his awkward position in the car seat. But by some strange force, he slept well, even through the bumps and bright headlights of the road ahead.

He actually slept for the better portion of one and a half hours before he finally woke up. He didn’t make any sound; the only reason why Stan knew he was awake was because he saw him touch his forehead out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Stan asked gently, not removing his eyes from the road.

Kyle yawned and rubbed his temples, “Guess so.”

“Do you usually sleep in the car?” Stan asked. He checked his rearview mirror to assess if he was safe to merge into another lane.

“No,” Kyle replied, stretching a little. He huffed irritatedly as he tried adjusting his wrinkled pajamas, “No, not really.”

Stan smiled to himself. He merged into the next lane, “I guess it’s ‘cause I’m just such a good driver, huh? I kept the ride nice and smooth, put you to sleep right away.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “No, dude. I have a migraine, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Stan lowered the volume of his voice, “I’m sorry about that. Feel any better?”

“A little. Not really, but, at least I can talk and have a conversation. It’s just at the bad-headache phase now.”

“Dude, I’m sorry, I wish I could help.”

“Don’t worry,” Kyle shrugged, unzipping the orange coat over his pajamas to allow himself more room, “It’s not like there’s anything you could do. It’s just a migraine. Unless you have some Ibuprofen?”

Stan shook his head, “Not on me.”

“Wait, I just remembered this is my dad’s car!” Kyle exclaimed, apparently surprised at not noticing it sooner. He laughed a little, “I must be losing my mind or something, oh jeez. Migraines, dude. They turn your brain into, like, playing-putty or something.”

“I’ve never had one,” Stan commented.

“Really? Not one?”

“I’ve had headaches here and there. And a shit ton of concussions.”

Kyle winced, “Ooo, that’s right. How many concussions have you had now?”

“Uh… As of now… four? Six? I forget.”

Kyle chuckled to himself, “You football jocks. You’re all so reckless. I guess it just comes with the job. Promise me you won’t kill yourself or, like, give yourself amnesia by playing, Stan.”

“I promise,” Stan said. He merged another lane.

“Anyway, now that we know that this is my dad’s car-” Kyle opened the glove compartment, “-that means we do, in fact, have my good friend Ibuprofen.”

When Kyle pulled out a white pill bottle from the glove compartment, Stan felt something lurch in his stomach. He felt his grip around the steering wheel tighten, watching his friend twist open the bottle and pour a few tablets into his hand. Just as Kyle raised the pills near his mouth, Stan reached over with one hand, keeping his other steadily on the steering wheel, and knocked the tablets away. Before Kyle could protest, Stan snatched away the bottle, the pills that were once in Kyle’s hands falling to the floor.

“Dude!” Kyle cried, exasperated, “What the hell?!”

“You shouldn’t take pills you don’t know,” Stan stated, voice crisp and tight. He tucked the Ibuprofen bottle into the cup holder of his drivers’ side door, where only he could reach it.

Kyle stared at him in disbelief, “But I know what that is. It’s just Ibuprofen. It’s literally kept in the car, my family and I use it all the time.”

“Well, I don’t like you taking pills,” Stan stated matter-of-factly.

“They’re hardly even ‘pills.’”

“They’re pills.”

“They’re like-” Kyle scrambled for the right words, using his hands to demonstrate his struggle, “They’re like only Advil. They’re  _ less _ than Advil, even. Like, they have them in offices and schools and stuff for whoever needs them.”

“They’re still a drug.”

“And?” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest.

“And I don’t like you taking drugs,” Stan said, thankful he was able to keep his voice stable. 

The plastic bag of sleeping pills weighed down his coat pocket at the words. Feeling the literal weight on his chest conjured a potpourri of emotions for Stan. He felt tremendous guilt recalling the appalling discovery that Ike had been drugging his older brother to sleep. It was a disgusting event to imagine happening, and even more so repulsive that Stan had physical evidence to prove it happened. He couldn’t help but feel liable for the drugging, at least partly, for not noticing anything before.

But at the same time, Stan also felt a feverish need to keep this secret from Kyle. It was selfish, he was aware of that, and he felt horrible keeping something from his super best friend, but it was vital that he kept the incidents hidden.

Kyle loved his younger brother, Ike. What once started as a practically nonexistent friendship eventually evolved into a resolute brotherhood. They were polar opposites, like yin and yang, but they were so drawn to each other that they were almost as close as Kyle and Stan were. 

Almost. They really weren’t  _ that  _ close, Stan was sure of that.

But Stan had to admit that Kyle was nonetheless really close to Ike. It was an onus to accept, but it was true. If Stan told him the truth, that his younger brother was harming him, it would break Kyle’s heart. His father was already maltreating him, which had to be taxing enough, but add that to drugging by the hand of someone he loved and Kyle would probably break down.

Stan couldn’t let that happen. He kept his gaze firmly set on the road ahead when he repeated himself, “I just don’t like you taking drugs, okay?”

“What’s with you, Stan?” Kyle asked, scooting forward in his car seat, “You seem real tense.”

“Nothing, it’s just-” he blew air out his lips, “-It’s just dark outside. It’s kinda hard to drive.”

“We could pull over and switch if you want,” Kyle offered. Stan didn’t look at him, but he didn’t need to; he could  _ feel _ the concern emanating off of Kyle, just by the way he spoke and carried himself.

“No,” he responded, wincing when his tone came out a little too harsh, “It’s just- You shouldn’t drive with a migraine.”

Kyle only sighed, “Fine.”

In gentle, easy motions, Stan veered the car off the main road to a smaller avenue. He drove onward beside dense skeletons of bushes left without leaves by the harsh winter weather. The only light came from the headlight beams of Gerald Broflovski’s car, bathing the serene country scene with its glow. A few nocturnal animals scuttered away, quickly scampering off the road and finding refuge in the snow.

Stan watched Kyle take in the mostly pastoral surroundings, pulling away from the window with confusion, “Stan, where are we going?”

Stan let up his hold on the gas pedal, allowing the car to slowly drift among the agrarian scene, “Does it matter? It’s a safe place.”

“Um, yes, it very much does matter,” Kyle locked the car door.

“...Just my dad’s old farm.”

Kyle’s jaw dropped, “Your dad’s old farm.”

“My dad’s old farm.”

“Tegridy Farms.”

“Good ol’ Tegridy Farms.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, Kyle took in a sharp inhale.

Stan winced, “Please don’t freak out!”

Inseat of “freaking out,” Kyle asked a question through gritted teeth, punching all the consonants tightly, “Why aren’t we just going to your house?” 

“‘Cause Kenny and Ike were at my house and I don’t want to see them again.”

“Stan,” Kyle was not only rubbing his temples, at this point he was constraining them, “You have said a lot of crazy shit so far today, but this is by far the most ludicrous thing you could ever propose. I refuse to believe that my brother was at your house.”

“He was, though.”

“But he hates you.”

“And I hate him!”

“But you don’t hate Kenny! Why don’t you want to see Kenny?”

“Because he locked me in a closet!”

“He did not lock you in a closet.”

“He did!”

“Well, it must have only been a joke, you know he likes to play jokes.”

“I was in there for hours! I think. I don’t even remember!”

“He must’ve had good reason! You can’t always treat him like he’s just a dumbass! You know he’s a good friend and he cares about you!”

“How could he have a good reason? He fucking  _ invited _ Ike to my house, when he knows we hate each other! And then he took  _ his side!” _

Under normal circumstances, Kyle would have exploded by now.

But the redhead just took a long exhale, taking his hands away from his head and stuffing them in the pockets of his coat. He appeared to be both mentally and physically exhausted, the topor just radiating off of him. He shook his head and looked out the window, “You’re just not yourself. This’ll pass. This’ll all pass.”

Stan didn’t fail to notice how Kyle’s uninjured foot was not shaking, not in the slightest. It was completely limp, as if Kyle had given up.

Stan didn’t address it. He just drove on.

By the time Stan pulled up to the old, rustic farmhouse just at the end of the dirt road, it was just before midnight, and Kyle was asleep again. As much as he probably should have, Stan didn’t want to wake him. So he simply carried Kyle out of the car piggy-back style, taking the backpack with him, and marched up the porch steps to get inside.

The house was just the same as he had left it a few years ago, albeit emptier and a little more dusty from the years passed. It still had its homely low-hanging ceilings, its charming old-fashioned wallpaper, and its undeniable reek of marajuana. Stan nearly gagged as he entered, having had zero exposure to the drug for such a long time that it caught him off guard. After regaining his composure, he had to laugh to himself a little at how much he had changed since he and his family moved away.

Kyle muttered and stirred a little on Stan’s back, but he remained fast asleep, even as he was carried along the rickety floorboards of the hallway and laid down comfortably on Shelley Marsh’s old bed. 

Stan would have preferred a less drafty bedroom to rest his best friend, but in truth, his sister’s bedroom was the best one in the house. The master bedroom his parents used to sleep in was always cold, and the stench of marajuana never left it. Stan’s own old bedroom was nice, but it had an exterior door leading out to the backyard; while this was a pleasant feature, there had been  _ way  _ too many instances in which some farmers mistook it for the door to a bathroom, and stumbled right into Stan’s bedroom by mistake. It was funny to think about now, but it certainly was not funny at the time.

That’s why he felt like Shelley’s bedroom was the best one to house Kyle. It was drafty and the air was a little too dry, but it really was the best room in the house, even though cheesy posters of boy bands covered the pale pink walls. Stan made sure to rest Kyle’s coat, hat, and backpack on the dated wooden nightstand before tucking him into the antique twin-sized bed, gently draping the quilts over his sleeping body. 

Stan couldn’t help but pause to take in the sight: Kyle sleeping tranquilly among the démodé encumbering him, resting under the pale glow of the moonlight from the window. For the first time in a long time, Kyle really looked like he was  _ safe. _ There was such a serenity in his sleeping bliss that Stan couldn’t help but be immobilized by euphoria. Kyle was finally safe and sound after years of exposure to danger and insecurity, safeguarded under Stan’s compassionate eye.

The thought occurred that it was Stan who was responsible, responsible for giving him this safety, and what a wonderful thought it was. He felt his breath hitch at sudden overwhelming pride. His years of pledging loyalty and ferverence to Kyle were not squandered away, they were proven. It was Stan, not Ike, not Kenny, not anyone else, but  _ Stan  _ who had finally saved him, his super best friend.

Stan took a moment to smile beside himself. He finally set everything right.

Kyle whimpered in his sleep, bringing the back of his hand against his forehead.

Stan felt the impulse to reach out and touch him, to give some kind of gentle affection, but stopped himself. He shouldn’t wake Kyle, not while he was sleeping. Stan drew his hand back in to his chest and backed away, he should give him some space now.

He stopped when he was at the door covered in chipping paint and adorned with a Lorde poster, and looked back at his friend over his shoulder. He let the smile return to his face, remembering that it was him who saved Kyle, and no one else.

* * *

  
  


Stan was not one for waking up early on weekends, he much rather preferred to sleep in past noon if he had the option. But today he woke at the crack of dawn, excitement bubbling in his gut that he couldn’t control. It could have been because he slept in his childhood bed again that he was so energized in the morning. He surprisingly slept like a log the entire night, surrounded by outdated furniture and the familiar scent of Tegridy Farms weed. Though in truth, his morning bounciness was more likely due to Kyle’s mere presence. It was actually really exciting to have just the two of them safe in his childhood home together.

He had to admit, he had not felt this happy in a long time. Depression treatment could only do so much; the medicine he took only gave him more vitamin D to help stabilize the amount of serotonin in his brain, but it never filled the mental gap that he had on an emotional level. Stan felt content, but still excited for more. Things were finally starting to go his way.

After he woke up, he headed straight for the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his rushed steps. He had the spontaneous idea that he could cook breakfast for Kyle and himself, as a little surprise. He opened the refrigerator, and was ultimately disappointed.

Stan had somehow managed to forget that he and his family had moved out years ago. The fridge was not only empty, but it wasn’t even running.

He scratched the back of his head.

Okay. So there was no food. That was not what he expected.

Stan sighed, noticing the slight hunger irking in his stomach. He decided that there had to be some kind of dry food stored somewhere. After all, his family still owned the farm, their possessions were still kept in the house, so in theory it would make sense if at least some food was left behind. He checked the antique cupboards, relieved when he noticed a few boxes lining the shelves.

He went through the boxes one by one, throwing away anything that had an expiration date of over a year ago, and lined up what items he could along the counter. By the time he finished, he had assembled two boxes of pasta, one box of rice, a jar of honey, a bottle of maple syrup, instant coffee, bags of popcorn, and a few packets of hot cocoa mix.

He groaned. This was not at all the kind of breakfast he envisioned.

He was about to stuff everything back into the cupboards out of pure resentment, but he was caught off guard by a little  _ thump _ coming from down the hall.

Stan’s ears perked up, “Kyle?”

He left the dry goods lined up on the counter to go to his sister’s old bedroom. He knocked on the door before letting himself in, walking in on the sight of his super best friend wrestling with pink blankets.

“Rough night?” Stan mused.

“Hardee har har,” Kyle yawned, rubbing his eyes as he pushed the blankets off him, “No, I slept like a baby actually. Just knocked over everything on the nightstand when I woke up. Hope I didn’t break anything.”

Stan approached the nightstand and stooped down to pick up an old alarm clock and an advent calendar, “Hey, anything she left behind she doesn’t care about. This stuff could be pushed off a cliff and she wouldn’t care.”

Still, he set them back on the nightstand, Kyle’s green eyes watching with curiosity. He stared a moment longer before asking, “Dude, where am I?”

“Shelley’s room,” Stan said. He sat himself down on the bed beside him.

Kyle raised his eyebrows in astonishment and looked around the bedroom, “I’ve never been in her room before.”

Stan shrugged, “You haven’t been to Tegridy Farms all that much in general. Don’t worry or anything, I’m sure she doesn’t care. It’s not like she’s coming back anytime soon,” he laughed, “She really hated everybody here.”

“I don’t blame her,” Kyle laughed, “Say, what’s her major? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Stan tried not to smile, “You’re gonna laugh.”

“No, I won’t. Why would I laugh?”

“At her major. You’ll never believe it.”

“What, is it something weird?”

“You could say that, yeah. It’s just… unexpected.”

Kyle’s curiosity was evident, “Dude. Tell me. I’m on the edge of my seat here.”

Stan stifled a laugh, “Dentistry. She- She wants to be a dentist.”

It was obvious that both Kyle and Stan were trying desperately hard to keep the conversation professional, but they were clearly holding back laughs too explosive to be kept inside. Just as they made eye contact, they simultaneously burst into laughter, the kind of laughter that turned their faces red and made their eyes wet with tears.

“She’s twenty two years old and she  _ still has braces!” _ Kyle snorted, clutching his sides.

Stan had to throw an arm around Kyle’s shoulders to keep himself from being knocked over, he was laughing so hard. Through bursts of breath and energy, he managed to reply, “Not- Not only that! She- Oh, God! She’s still wearing the same headgear from middle school!”

Kyle flopped back on the bed exasperatedly, “No, stop! Shit! No more, no more- I-” he laughed, “I can’t take this, this is too much!

After the chortling died down, both boys had the opportunity to breathe. Stan lay back on the bed alongside Kyle, both of them facing the ceiling and taking in air desperately. Kyle giggled a little, so Stan did too, but they didn’t go into crowing fit again. Mirth was still evident in the atmosphere when they finally caught their breath.

When he finally calmed down, the first thing Stan said was:

“I’m hungry.”

Kyle snickered, “Of course you are.”

“Wanna eat something?”

“In a little bit. I want to wash up first,” Kyle sat up on the bed, wincing a little at the sudden movement. Stan looked on worriedly, and bit down on his tongue so he couldn’t say anything to offend him.

“So, where’s your bathroom?” Kyle asked, leaning on the nightstand to help him stand.

Stan scrutinized his movements, scanning for any sort of pain or pressure, when he replied, “First door on your left. Do you need help?”

“Not if it’s that close. I’m sure I can hobble.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Stan tried not to stare as his friend hopped across the bedroom, keeping his casted foot in the air and keeping his injured back upright. It was difficult for Stan to watch him struggle. Mere seconds ago, they had been roaring and rejoicing in laughter, having the time of their lives, like how everything used to be when they were kids, back when things were normal. Back then, Stan never had to worry about looking out for Kyle, not to the extent he does today. Kyle, the vibrant firebrand and the assertive voice of reason, never used to be in any sort of danger. But now witnessing him toiling with a simple everyday task, Stan was reminded that the world just wasn’t good to Kyle anymore.

When the redhead disappeared around the door, Stan felt the impulse to follow him, so he did. He poked his head around the corner of the bathroom doorway to see Kyle scrubbing his face with soap and water over the sink.

“Hey, the water works!” Stan cheered.

Kyle rinsed his face from the suds before responding, “Of course it works. What’re you talking about?”

“There’s nobody paying the power bills anymore, so the electricity’s out,” Stan explained as Kyle moved on to drying his face with a hand towel, “I was worried the water might be out, too, but I guess it makes sense it’s still working. The workers need water for the crops, and the main water chamber, or whatever it’s called, is attached to the house.” 

“I thought your dad’s weed business died years ago.”

“Nah. It’s still going strong, it’s just under new management by one of my relatives. We just moved away but we still own the house,” Stan stopped, but then added, “Also, side note; don’t worry about any of the workers. They don’t come near here, they just make noise here and there, but they’ll leave us alone.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Man, the way you’re talking, you make it sound like you’re a millionaire and you have servants to tend to your crops.”

“That’s a pretty picture,” Stan smiled.

Kyle gaped, “What? Being a slave driver?”

“No! Being a millionaire! Geez!”

“Oh yeah, that would be peachy,” Kyle nodded. He splashed some water on his face, and then inspected himself in the mirror. It was impossible to not notice his frown when he asked, “Stan, do you think I’m too thin?”

“Yes,” Stan said dumbly, “I’ve been saying that for years now.”

Anxiety brewed inside of him as he watched Kyle continue to frown at himself in the mirror. He felt his heart quicken as he asked, “Why? You’re not getting self-conscious on me, are you, dude?”

“Nah, man,” Kyle assured, though he didn’t remove his gaze from his reflection, “It’s just-... It’s just that my brother had some sort of health documentary on the other day, and it said something about how somebody’s weight affects all kinds of stuff about their wellness. Especially stuff you wouldn’t expect. Like, did you know gaining and losing weight can literally change somebody’s personality?”

“That’s interesting,” Stan blinked.

“Yeah, for real,” Kyle finished drying his face and folded the cloth neatly on the counter.

Stan was resting against the door frame with his arms crossed relaxedly over his chest, “Your brother watches health documentaries?”

“Oh yeah, all the time. He’s obsessed with them.”

“That’s creepy.”

“How is it creepy? He wants to go into the medical field when he grows up.”

“First of all, he’s just a creepy kid. Second, it’s creepy because psychopaths and serial killers and stuff are all obsessed with medical stuff.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “They are not!”

“Not all of them!” Stan backtracked, “But really, it’s true. Look it up. Psychopaths are in the medical field a lot.”

Kyle only sighed sardonically, clearly not taking Stan seriously, “Anyway, as I was saying before you went on your psychopath spiel, I realized that my weight might not be good for my… injuries. I mean, recovery varies person to person in general, but I learned that overweight and underweight people are still really at risk.”

Stan’s mouth went dry, “At risk of what?”

“I don’t really know, I wasn’t all that invested in the documentary,” Kyle shrugged, “I just picked up on a few parts of it here and there. It’s just- I might be at risk of something. Oh, additional note; it might also be because of my weight that I get migraines all the time.”

Or because your fucking younger brother’s been poisoning you with pills.

Stan kept that thought to himself, of course. He didn’t dare say it out loud. Instead, he settled for saying:

“Kyle, you might be getting migraines because you’re eating the wrong kinds of foods, or not enough food,” he moved so that he was standing beside his friend, both of them looking into the mirror, “How often do you get migraines? I didn’t realize you got them ‘all the time.’ Your words, not mine.”

Kyle just huffed, “I don’t get them ‘all the time.’ I shouldn’t have worded it that way. Maybe like two or three times a week?”

Stan’s veins ran cold.

“Dude. That’s bad. Why haven’t you told me before?”

Kyle wasn’t paying attention. He was transfixed with the mirror, absorbing every little detail he could. He tilted his head to the side as he continued to study his reflection, “Stan, I have to cut my hair.”

“What?” Stan exclaimed, “No, you don’t!”

“It’s getting way too long. It’s almost a bob. It’s so hard to deal with,” he ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke, or at least, tried to. His hair was much too curly and matted, having not been brushed this morning, and his fingers got caught in its tangles.

“See what I mean?” Kyle vexed, “It’s impossible.”

“Please don’t cut your hair!” Stan begged, “I love your hair, please!”

“You only love it because you don’t have to deal with it! I mean, look, it’s a mess!” Kyle laughed at his own exasperation, “And it’s so fucking red! Why is my hair so red?!”

“Kyle!” Stan pleaded, he wrapped his arm around Kyle’s shoulders as they stared into the mirror together, “Don’t cut your hair, I am begging you! I love it! Everybody loves it!”

Kyle rolled his head back, “Everybody does not love it.”

“They do, though! I swear, every single person who’s ever had a crush on you told me themselves. They all said they love your hair!”

The silence ensuing Stan’s words was so eminent that one could hear a pin drop.

As the tension rose, Kyle removed Stan’s arm from his shoulders and turned to look him in the eye.

“Did you say something about people having a crush on me?”

Stan couldn’t tell from Kyle’s bewildering tone if he was angry, sad, or just neutral. It made him a little nervous, looking into his jade green eyes and not knowing what thoughts were processing behind them.

He drew his arm back into himself, “Um. I don’t know. I- I might have.”

“Stan, nobody’s ever had a crush on me.”

“...I don’t. Have a crush on you. If that’s what you're implyi-”

“-No,” Kyle held his hand up, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that no one’s ever had a crush on me… I know that for a fact.”

Stan couldn’t find the words to respond.

Kyle went on, his green eyes piquing, “It’s the running joke of all our friends, that I’m the one guy in school who’s never had a date. If somebody’s had a crush on me before, well then, they would have asked me out, right? I mean, everyone in  _ town _ knows I’m available! I’m sure if someone had a crush on me, I would know, they would tell me.”

As the words left his mouth, Kyle dipped his head down, shame everywhere in his expression, “Right? Wouldn’t they tell me?”

Stan took a step backward, doing his best to process what Kyle was saying. He could barely wrap his head around the words already said, but Kyle bewildered him even more by going on. His voice was low, ashamed and hurt, when he asked, “Stan, have you been keeping this a secret from me? Have people really loved me before?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Kyle, you’re spiraling again.”

Kyle clapped the palm of his hand to his forehead, “You’re right. You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I came to that conclusion out of nowhere… Shit… Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry for calling you out like that, I’m positive you wouldn’t do something like that.”

Stan was overcome with guilt, “Kyle-”

“-Hey, go cook us up some breakfast, okay?”

“I will, but, Kyle-”

“-I’ll eat everything you put in front of me, for real this time. Just give me some space right now, okay?”

“-Kyle-”

“-I swear, I’ll eat, just go ri-”

_ “-Kyle!” _

“-I’ll let you see my back again.”

“...”

“I promise, you can inspect it, or doctor it, or whatever it is you want to do, okay? I don’t mind,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight, “Just leave me alone right now.”

“...Okay, Kyle,” Stan said, his heart breaking, watching Kyle sink into himself. His legs felt like jelly, he was barely able to keep himself upright as he walked. He stopped in the doorway, leaning onto the frame of the bathroom door, “Just call for me if you need anything, okay?”

Kyle didn’t even open his eyes, “Whatever.”

Stan closed the bathroom door before he crept away down the hall. The floorboards groaned angrily under his discrepant steps. His knees were weak, but his feet were as heavy as stones, making him stumble all over himself in the short walk between the bathroom and the kitchen.

By the time he got there, he could have doubled over in exhaustion. He didn’t, though. He forced himself to remain upright. Kyle gave him a task and goddamn it he was going to accomplish it.

Kyle deserved a decent meal, at least. He certainly deserved a lot better. After all, Stan never wanted Kyle to find out about all the people who loved him for that very same reason. Kyle deserved better.

It wasn’t a crime that Stan shied those people away. He only wanted to keep Kyle shielded from heartbreak, and that was not a bad thing to have done. Stan had experienced too many heartbreaks, and he was not going to allow his super best friend to go through one, not ever. Kyle deserved better.

Not only that, but Stan didn’t know what these people were capable of. He didn’t know if they were threats, if they wanted to hurt Kyle. And these thoughts occurred way before Stan even knew about the dangers Gerald and Ike posed, starting back at the start of middle school and lasting all the way through high school; so it wasn’t as though he had any experience protecting Kyle before he pushed these people away. He did just that, pushed them away, pushed them out of Kyle’s life before they could hurt him.

Admittedly, he never planned on telling Kyle, and the reason why became clear by the way he was reacting. He was almost acting like Stan had done something wrong, which wasn’t true in the least.

They would have to talk about this over breakfast together. He refused to let Kyle carry this idea with him, this impression that Stan was in the wrong. Stan would talk, he would express his ideology, Kyle would agree, they would both feel better, and then they would tuck in to a well made meal.

That was all. Everything would be fine as soon as Stan justified himself. Kyle was a smart cookie, he would understand. Besides, it wasn’t like a boyfriend or girlfriend could offer him more than Stan could, Kyle had to understand that. All of this, and possibly more, was to be discussed over breakfast.

A traditional breakfast was out of the question, as was a meal of much nutritional value, much to Stan’s distaste. But he was not going to let that stop him, he was more determined than ever.

After finding some left behind kitchenware, such as cups, pots and pans, a few forks, and so on, Stan ended up preparing a pot of pasta. Plain pasta. It was not exciting, but it was either plain pasta or plain rice, and Stan disliked the latter more.

He also took the liberty of blowing up a bag of popcorn and brewing some instant coffee. Personally, he wasn’t fond of coffee. To him, it was just unnecessary caffeine and it drained the body of liquid, which were both no-goes for the health-nut famous quarterback. But he knew Kyle enjoyed it, so he readied some coffee anyway.

So breakfast today was plain pasta, popcorn, and black instant coffee. Scrumptious.

Stan made a mental note that he would need to carve out the time to go grocery shopping. Unfortunately, in order to do that, he would have to make the long journey back into town. There wasn’t any other infrastructure around for miles. Even the farmers lived in town, a ninety minute commute away. 

It would be worth the extra effort in the end, though. It was human structure; they needed to eat. And Stan might as well stock up on food; he planned on staying for a long time.

How long? He couldn’t be certain just yet. He had never been in a situation where he ran away with his best friend, stole a car, and hid in a remote dwelling without any power before. It seemed as though, much like all the other crazy shenanigans thrown his way, Stan would have to play this one by ear.

When Stan finished making “breakfast,” he set everything down at the kitchen table and arranged the meal on display. He felt immense satisfaction as he looked at his work before him. With the meal set prettily on the table, waiting to be devoured, it was almost like a real family breakfast. The only things missing were the diners.

“Hey, Kyle?” he called to the bathroom, “You ready to eat?”

When no response came, Stan moved further down the hallway and spoke louder, “Kyle, I finished breakfast. Are you ready to eat? Don’t forget you promised me you were going to eat everything on your plate.”

Stan was greeted by unfriendly silence.

He felt hair rise along the back of his neck, a terrible sensation of spider-like gestures, making him feel queasy with nervousness. The anticipation boiled in his gut as he approached the bathroom, the silence making his heart pound. He tentatively knocked on the bathroom door and held his breath.

“Kyle? Are you okay?”

When no response came yet again, Stan opened the door.

He curled up at the sight, his guts wrenching inside of him. He tried calling out his friend’s name, but he was too aghast to get any words out.

Kyle Broflovski lay on the bathroom floor in front of him, face down against the tile, deathly still.


	12. Chapter 12

Stan rocked back and forth on the tiled bathroom floor, cradling Kyle’s limp body in his lap. He stroked his curly red hair, burying his face into the crook of Kyle’s neck as he muttered little everythings along his feverish skin.

Stan had never been more petrified in his life. Even after suffering through so many daunting forces time and time again, nothing was more unnerving than walking in on his super best friend immobilized on the floor. For a short while, Stan had actually believed Kyle was dead, but pertinently so. He was leaden in every limb; even his head lolled backwards without Stan holding it upright. Furthermore, he did not once respond to any of Stan’s many efforts to wake him up.

He was alive, though. Stan only knew that because of how close they were to each other. They were so close in their embrace that he could actually feel Kyle’s heartbeat pressed against his own, their rib cages pushed together. Stan's own heart pounded much too rapidly and Kyle’s much too slowly, both of them beat at paces so extreme they were unsafe. Kyle’s breathing was shallow, too; his chest didn’t even move when tiny wisps of feeble air went in and out of him.

Stan barely understood what was happening, but he didn’t concern himself with that. For once, knowing the unknown didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was the unconscious boy in his arms. He was wholly fixated on Kyle, giving him every ounce of attention he could muster, holding him with his entire body, refusing to let him go. 

“Oh, Kyle…” Stan said for the thousandth time as he rocked, taking in Kyle’s scent, “What’s going on, buddy? ...Don’t leave me, okay? Don’t die, please… I said I was gonna look after you, right?”

He continued to rock back and forth on the floor, his bare feet going cold against the chilled tile. He rubbed up and down Kyle’s arms to warm him, perchance he was cold too.

“Kyle,” he sniffed, “Kyle, do you think I’m a vampire? Your brother called me a vampire. He said-... He said I suck the life out of you… That’s not right, though. I mean, he-... Your brother’s done bad things to you. So has your dad. And I’m really, really sorry for that. I wish I had been there to stop them. But I’m making up for it now, right? I’m only doing what’s best for you. You’re my best friend, you know. I’d never hurt you.”

The redhead in his arms gave his first sign of life. He inhaled deeply, and then mewed out a soft moan.

Right away, Stan turned Kyle around in his arms, practically quaking, “Kyle? Oh my god. Kyle, are you listening to me? Hey, are you there?”

Kyle tensed up in his arms, bringing a hand to his forehead in distress. He kept his eyes closed, but he was still very much awake. He took another deep breath before he could get a few shaky words out, mumbling incoherently. 

Stan’s heart wrenched. He held Kyle closer to his chest, his heart skipping a few beats.

“Hey,” he whispered, “Hey, i-it’s okay, Kyle. It’s okay. I- You- You fainted on me there, Kyle. Why’d you faint on me…? It’s okay, though, don’t you worry. I’ll keep you safe, I promise. I promise…”

Kyle was mumbling louder now. His breath was faulting and he was very much disoriented, but he still desperately tried to communicate in his weakness, “Stan… I need you to-... I…”

Stan pulled him in even closer, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here…”

“...insulin…”

The word set off alarm bells in Stan’s head.

“...what?”

“My-... My fuckin’ blood sugar… I need my insulin…” Kyle whimpered again, arching his back, “Fuck… I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I haven’t eaten since you gave me breakfast… yesterday. I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot-... I’m gonna faint again… Shit. I’m seein’ black, Stan…”

At hearing his own name from Kyle’s cries, Stan was immediately punched in the gut with guilt.

He had left the Broflovski household without any of Kyle’s medication. His insulin pricks, his anger-issue medication, and his painkillers were all back in the Broflovski kitchen. He had been in such a rush, too worried about getting Kyle out of there that he completely forgot about the medicine he needed, the medicine he relied on to survive.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Stan’s anxiety spiked when Kyle went limp in his arms once again, his head rolling backward.

A lump rose in Stan’s throat. With shaking hands, he untangled Kyle from his arms and lay him down on the floor gently, though he was panicking the entire time. He stood up with a rocky start, barely able to keep himself from falling over.

Stan turned on the sink faucet, his gaze still glued to his unconscious friend on the floor. Gathering some water in his hands, he splashed it down on Kyle’s face. He did this again and again until Kyle finally snapped awake, jumping at the cold water, and sitting upright immediately.

Kyle must have sat up too quickly, because he went pale in the face and clutched the sides of his head.

Stan was there by his side, kneeling. He ran his hand along Kyle’s spine, but gently, as he whispered, “Kyle, you’re okay, right? Please tell me you’re okay.”

Kyle rubbed his temples, “Please get me my insulin, I don’t feel good…”

Stan could have cried right then and there. His friend was so distressed, so desperate. The one thing he needed Stan couldn’t give to him.

“I’m so sorry,” Stan murmured, continuing to caress his friend’s backside soothingly, “Your insulin’s back at your house, Kyle. I left it at your house.”

Kyle didn’t lean in to Stan’s touch. If anything, he pulled away. He moved forward, hugging his knees on the bathroom floor, “Stan, I think you need to take me to a hospital… I really don’t feel good… Shit-” Kyle teared up, squeezing his eyes shut, “-Shit, shit… I don’t feel good, dude. You have to take me to a hospital.”

Stan’s hand froze midway on Kyle’s back. He swallowed before saying:

“I don’t think I can do that, Kyle.”

“Just- Just call an ambulance.”

“I left my phone back at my place.”

“Then use my phone!”

“I left that at yours…”

“Goddamn it, Stan, just drive me then!” Kyle cried, he hugged his knees even tighter, “I don’t- I’ve never felt this sick before..!”

Stan was grief stricken, watching the most cherished person in his world crumble over himself, distressed and inconsolable. He felt pensive, dejected, but he still couldn’t do what Kyle asked of him. As sorry as he felt for his super best friend, Stan absolutely refused to even consider taking him to the hospital.

If he were to take him to the hospital, not only would they be leaving the security of the isolated farmhouse, but they were setting themselves up for disaster. Stan knew that the first thing the doctors and nurses would do was contact Kyle’s parents; Kyle was still a minor, and his parents needed to be notified of his arrival right away. 

The next thing that would happen was painfully obvious. Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski would find a ride to the hospital, reclaim possession of their car, and worst of all, reclaim possession of their  _ son. _ Kyle would slip right out of Stan’s fingers and be pushed down a pitfall of an abusive household all over again.

Stan just couldn’t live with himself if he let that happen, it would be all his fault.

But it also would be all his fault if Kyle fell ill because he couldn’t get his insulin.

“N-No. I’m sorry, I can’t take you to the hospital,” Stan commanded now, “It’s just not s-safe. We’re ninety minutes away from town, if we drive you to the hospital, something bad might happen before you even get there.”

Kyle went slack against his knees.

“Can- Can I get you something to eat?” Stan offered, “Would that help? Carbs help with blood sugar, I know that. I made pasta.”

Stan went on rubbing his back, ignoring how much it quivered under his touch, “Do you think you could stomach some pasta? It’s bowtie pasta, your favorite.”

“...why can’t you take me to a hospital?” his voice was small and mouse-like.

“Kyle,” Stan did his best to control his voice, “It’s just not safe for you, okay? It’s just not safe and I promised I would keep you safe, right?”

Kyle didn’t verbally respond. He just trembled, burying his face in the sanctuary of his arms around his knees.

“Do you think you could stomach some bowtie pasta? It’s just about all we have, besides popcorn and coffee, but those won’t really help you,” Stan tried again, feeling a little guilty that he couldn’t offer more.

Kyle sniffed, “I’m dizzy. Might puke…”

“Would water help?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you hungry?”

“So fuckin’ hungry…” Kyle said as his face turned a shade paler, “I, like, I can’t even  _ think _ , dude. I’m so hungry, but I’m dizzy, and I-”

“-Hey, it’s okay! Shh, shh, shh,” Stan soothed, “Try to relax, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

He absentmindedly looked around the bathroom.

“Do you-...” he tried to conjure the right way to word his thoughts, “Do you need me to carry you to the kitchen? Or, like, a bed or someplace?”

“No. No… No, the floor is good. ‘s cold…”

“Oh, you’re cold? I’m sorry, Kyle. Here, wait, I’ll warm you,” Stan moved to embrace him.

Kyle pulled away at just the same time, pressing himself against the corner where the wall met the tiled floor. He shook his head, hugging himself, “No, no, the cold is good. I like the cold, I like it. Just let me…”

Stan could tell that he was about to fade out of consciousness again, so he grabbed Kyle’s head before it could hit the ground, and assisted it gently to the floor, as if he were laying him down on a pillow. He took a towel from the cabinet under the sink and draped it over Kyle like a blanket. The gesture was sweet, placid, and calm, but Stan was anything but that on the inside.

He may have been able to keep himself composed when Kyle was awake, but that was a skill he perfected over the years, playing pretty for Kyle when meanwhile, under the skin, his blood was boiling with anxiety.

How could he mess up so royally? Stan’s mind had been plagued by thoughts about drugs and medicine ever since he discovered Ike’s sleeping pills, but he somehow forgot to take the very medication that Kyle needed. It was because of his astronomically foolish mistake that Kyle’s life now lay in his hands.

Stan only had two options, and both of them terrified him.

He could simply wait it out. He could nurse Kyle back to health on his own terms, but that came with a heavy cost, the cost being both of their wellbeing. In addition to not having Kyle’s much-needed insulin, they had no food, no electricity, and no contact with exterior sources thanks to Stan leaving their phones behind. The idea was incredibly risky and honestly, a little scary.

His other option was to take Kyle to Hell’s Pass Hospital, a facility with a name so daunting it gives the impression they lose more lives than they save. Immediately upon their arrival, though, Stan would lose Kyle. He would fall back into the hands of his parents and brother and Stan would have no way of intervening. He would most likely be charged with auto theft before he could even justify himself, before he could have the chance to speak up about Kyle’s dangers. 

That was always how it played out in the anarchic town he was forced to call home; the voice of reason was always shut down by the man in charge.

Stan tried to take a deep breath to calm himself. Though his blood was curdling and his head was ablaze with panic, he forced himself to focus on the task ahead. 

He retreated to the kitchen, where he had the bowtie pasta cooling off in a colander in the sink. He didn’t bother pouring any of it into bowls, he just took the colander by its handles to the bathroom, where Kyle still lay unconscious under the towel.

He felt a pang of sadness when he walked in on the unsettling scene once again. 

It couldn’t go on like this, Kyle fading in and out of consciousness and Stan stressing over what to do about him. There had to be a better option. If only there were a way he could call for help without exposing Kyle to danger, like if there were some magical way he could radio-transmit an insulin pump via teleportation or some other implausible thing.

“Radio-transmit…” Stan whispered aloud as the cogs started to turn in his head. 

He had no phone, so he couldn’t call for help, but he did have a two-way radio back in his bedroom. It was one of those walkie-talkies that he and all his friends had when they were little kids, for playing pretend and talking on the weekends. The two-way radio was actually a parting gift from Kyle when Stan moved away to Tegridy Farms, as a way they could stay in touch. It was an extraordinary gift, it kept him connected with Kyle, Kenny, Eric, and essentially everyone else in school.

With an audience so wide, Stan couldn’t be the last one to still own a walkie-talkie. He couldn’t be. There had to be somebody else out there who could help.

He left the colander on the bathroom floor for Kyle, and then immediately proceeded to his old bedroom.

The two-way radio was right where he left it a few years ago, right on top of his toy chest. Eager with anticipation, Stan picked up the radio and prayed to God it still had working batteries. He held his breath in apprehension as he turned the first few dials, feeling an untimely nostalgia as he set up the device. It was weird, he was practically shaking with trepidation, but at the same time, the familiarity of his childhood walkie-talkie made him feel comfortable. He could feel himself relax in his anxiousness, as oxymoronic as it was.

He cleared his voice.

“Hello?” he spoke, holding down on the plastic green button to speak, “Hello? Is anyone on channel one? Channel one? Is anyone there?”

He waited a minute or so before turning the dial again.

“Channel two. Is anyone on channel two? Is anyone there?”

He waited. He turned the dial.

“Channel three. Can I please have someone on channel three? It’s an emergency, please.”

He waited. He turned the dial.

“Channel four? I need your help, please.”

He waited. He turned the dial.

“Channel five! I need somebody, anybody. Something happened to Kyle, is anybody there?”

He waited. He turned the dial.

“Channel six, please! Look, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I really need somebody right now, please. I made-... I made a very bad choice.”

He waited. He waited some more, but he couldn’t turn the dial again. Something didn’t feel right.

The red light on top of the device started blinking, and Stan’s heart skipped a beat. That light meant that someone was trying to communicate with him, just from another channel. He flipped back through the channels rapidly, until he found the right one.

“Hello? Who’s there? I got a notification.”

_ “Stan?” _

Stan was already regretting this idea.

_ “Oh my god, Stan, is that you?! I’ve been worried  _ sick _ about you, dude! And I’m not usually a worrier!”  _ Kenny McCormick exploded from the other line of the radio, “ _ Holy shit! Are you okay, Stan? Where are you? You just sort of ran off, you scared the hell out of me. You were acting so weird, and then you just disappeared. Like, poof!  _ _   
_ _ “The Canadian and I ran back to his house because we thought you might be there, and we saw that his dad’s car was gone. Me and Kyle’s family have been freaking out like hell, dude. I think they’re gonna call the police. Do you have Kyle with you? He’s nowhere to be found.” _

Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe he should just-

He could pick up on the faint sound of Kyle crying from the bathroom.

No, he had to do this. There was no other way. This was all for Kyle.

With a wavering voice, Stan pressed down on the green button and replied, “Hey, Kenny. There’s no need to worry about me or Kyle. Yes, we’re together. Don’t call the police. You know they won’t listen to us anyways. We’re all good. I just need you to do something for me. Can you do that?”

_ “Hold up a ding dang minute, asshole,”  _ Kenny huffed. There was a bit of a static disturbance, but Kenny went on,  _ “Dude, you’ve been spewing shit for two days straight now and every single word that’s come out of your mouth makes no sense. At all. Can I speak first for once? I’m begging you.” _

“Kenny-”

_ “-Please don’t try to cut me off, dude, I’m worried! Let me speak!” _

Stan was torn. While he undeniably did care about Kenny’s feelings, Stan’s own situation was more desperate. His best friend was in the bathroom crying, probably about to pass out again, at the end of his rope. Stan didn’t know enough about type 1 diabetes to know how much longer Kyle was going to be okay. With his broken ankle, his bruised back, and his repeated fainting, Kyle was already frightfully ill, and he was likely to get even worse.

“It’s an emergency, Kenny.”

“ _ Tell me there’s not really an emergency, and you’re just saying that so you can speak first.” _

“There really is an emergency. A medical emergency. I need your help.”

There was a large pause before Kenny replied, his voice barely louder than the static,  _ “...is it Kyle?” _

“It’s Kyle,” Stan said, almost choking on the name, “I-I need you to bring his insulin pricks, some of his other meds, also my phone, and maybe some food. To us. Please. We’re at Tegridy Farms.”

The only response Stan got was a lot of static.

“Kenny?”

More static.

“Kenny, do you read me? Please, it’s an emergency. He keeps passing out, and I don’t have any food, not really anyway, and-”

_ “-What did you do to my brother, Marsh?” _

Stan broke out into a cold sweat. His finger twitched as it pressed the green button, “Ike?! Ike, what are you doing on this channel?”

_ “I’m with Kenny, idiot. We’re at my house. We thought you would come here, but we couldn’t find you anywhere, or Kyle either. The two of you were just gone, and my dad’s car and-... Good God, Marsh. Good God, did you kidnap my brother?! ” _

He clutched the walkie-talkie tightly in his fist, “I don’t want to talk to you. I want Kenny.”

_ “McCormick here is not your dog. You ought to treat him with more respect. Same thing with my brother…” _ Ike’s voice faltered, almost like he was nervous when he went on, _ “Kenny said there was a medical emergency. What did you do to him? Did you hurt him?” _

Stan was now gripping the device so roughly that his fingers were pounding at the pressure, “I did not. I would never. I wouldn't-... Not what you did-”

He forced himself to take a breath and go on, “Listen, Ike, I’ll beat the shit out of you later. I don’t care if you’re younger than me, I won’t hold back, but I’ll do that later. I need you to do what I tell you right now.”

While Stan didn’t completely understand what they were saying through the distortion of the static, he could pick up sounds of Kenny and Ike conversing, debating, bickering, and then coming to a conclusion.

Ike was the first to speak,  _ “Fine. But you have to do what we tell you, too.” _

“Why?”

_ “It’s only fair. We do what you want, you do what we want.” _

“I don’t see how that’s fair, when I am in a legitimately dangerous situation and you’re-”

_ “-This is not up for debate, Marsh.” _

Stan opened his mouth to retort back, but a noise from somewhere in the house caught his attention. Even though he was in an entirely different room, he could distinctly hear the sound of Kyle’s whimpers echoing off the bathroom tiles. The small sound was so dismal, so delicate. It was heartbreaking.

“...Fine,” Stan submitted, but only for Kyle’s sake, “Just let me say what I need first.”

_ “We’re listening.” _

“I need Kyle’s diabetic supplies, all of it, his anger medication, his painkillers, my phone, and about a weeks’ worth of food. I need this all delivered to the Tegridy Farms farmhouse as soon as humanly possible.”

Ike chuckled sinisterly on the other line,  _ “Tegridy Farms. I should have known you would take him there. You’re not a very original kidnapper, are you?” _

Stan’s voice broke, “I rescued him, goddamn it! I rescued him from the hands of you! And I swear, you little creep, as soon as I get my hands on you, I’ll-”

-He was cut off by static, a prominent warning that the battery was low. When the static disappeared, Kenny had the speaker again,  _ “Hey, Stan, it’s me, Kenny, okay? It’s just Kenny. It’s just your dude. I sent Ike to the other room, so it’s just friends here. We’re all pals here. Let’s not talk about your… expenditure with Kyle right now, okay? Let’s just talk about what you need.” _

“It’s not an ‘expenditure’ either, it’s a resc-”

_ “-Please talk about it later, Stan. For Kyle.” _

“Only for Kyle, damn it.”   
_ “So is that all you need, dude? His meds, your phone, and some food?” _

“A few portable chargers would be nice, too. Maybe some flashlights for the night.”

_ “Okay, if that’s all you-” _

“-Wait. One more thing,” he blurted out, thinking about the redhead softly crying a few rooms down the hall. Stan felt like he was pleading when he asked, “Could you… Could you bring something for Kyle? Like those sudoku puzzles he likes to do, or his favorite book or something? Just to- To make sure he’s happy, and so he has something to do.”

_ “How about his phone?” _

“Absolutely not,” Stan answered a little too quickly.

_ “...Sudoku it is. I got you. No problem at all.” _

“Okay,” he said. He considered saying ‘thank you,’ but figured it might not be worth it.

He instead decided to say, “What’s at your end of the bargain?”

_ “Ike and I…”  _ Kenny began, not really sounding like himself,  _ “We think it’s best if the two of you spent some time apart for a while. We only ask that you finish up with your staycation at Tegridy Farms, and leave Kyle at his house alone for a week or so, so he can-” _

“-No.”

_ “No?” _

“No. Never in a million years. I’d rather die. I am not leaving him alone in that house.”

Kenny’s voice was more than reassuring. He spoke with sincere clarity, sounding much like those sweet ladies who worked at emergency phone lines,  _ “Okay. I get it, dude. You’re all good. How about you let the Kylie-B hang with me for a bit? He can stay with me at the Scotch place. My foster folks are really nice to visitors, we have plenty of room to spare, and I know Butters and Karen really want to see him again.” _

Stan’s breath hitched.

_ “I want to see him again, too, Stan. I feel like I never see him anymore.” _

Stan shook his head, even though Kenny couldn’t see his face, “No. No, I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t. I-”

_ “-Okay,”  _ Kenny was afflicted at this point, Stan could tell, but he bucked through it anyway,  _ “That’s okay. We, uh, we have another option. We don’t really like this one, but you know, life is full of shit you don’t like, right? Okay, well, how does it sound if the four of us were to stay at your place for a while? Together. Me, you, Ike, and the Kylie-B. All together. Your place. How’s that sound?” _

“...I don’t like it.”

_ “I don’t either, Stan. I mean, technically, the four of us could stay together in your weed house, I don’t mind that. But I’m sorry, it just doesn’t feel…  _ right _ to leave you two alone right now. I can’t morally let you keep him anywhere against his will.” _

Stan’s ears picked up defensively, “Hey, wait a minute now. Who said he’s here against his will? He came here because he agreed with me. He wanted to come here with me. He needed to-”

_ “-Sorry, okay? Jesus Christ, sorry. Just, you can’t, you can’t just-... Stan, I’m sorry about what I said. Just agree already. I want Kyle to be okay, too, you know.” _

Something about that line made Stan’s blood curdle, though he didn’t know what it was that upset him so. It could have simply been because of the way Kenny covered up so quickly after accusing Stan of keeping Kyle against his will. It was like Kenny didn’t even care that he charged him with a heinous crime against humanity.    
Or Stan’s animosity could have been due to the degrading nickname he used to talk about Kyle, it was so casual, almost like he was marginalizing him; that was downright offensive, both to Stan and Kyle.

The thought lingered that maybe Stan was angry with Kenny for his last sentence, when he said he wanted Kyle to be okay. It was a sweet thought, really, but just the  _ way  _ he said it changed everything. Kenny had said it so… sadly. Yes, that was the right word. There was no other way to describe his tone. Kenny, the vibrant ball of sunshine, the goofball of the group, had  _ sadly _ said that he wanted Kyle to be okay.

It was like he was accusing Stan of bad things all over again.

Stan clenched his fists, “I’m sure you do.”

_ “Okayyy...”  _ Kenny drawled out on the other line,  _ “So?” _

“So what?”

_ “Can you agree so we can come over already? If this is a medical emergency, I’m worried we’re not going at the right pace.” _

Shit. He had a point.

“Oh my god, you’re right. You’re so right, Kenny,” Stan muttered, running a hand through his hair, “Yes, yes of course. Come over as fast as you can, okay?”

_ “You got it, dude. Hold on tight.” _

Stan was about to turn off his two-way radio, when Kenny continued talking.

_ “Wait a sec. Stan?” _

“Yeah?”

_ “Whatever ends up happening, you and me, me and you, us, we’re gonna have a talk okay? Just a lil’ chit chat. Just a talk. That’s all I want,”  _ Kenny’s voice softened,  _ “I’d like to talk, if you don’t mind… I feel like I don’t really know who you are anymore.” _

Stan ripped the batteries out of the walkie talkie.

“Sorry,” he said to no one, “Batteries died.”

* * *

Ike and Kenny must have been speeding on their drive, because they arrived in Kenny’s weathered red truck just an hour after the call, when the regular commute should have taken more than ninety minutes. Stan appreciated their punctuality nonetheless, for once grateful that they had a lazy police force who couldn’t care less if a few teenagers were speeding down the highway.

In the hour it took for them to show, Stan spent his time at Kyle’s side on the bathroom floor. He tried insistently to urge Kyle to move to a bed or at least a sofa, but Kyle begged to stay against the chilled tiles of the bathroom floor; he also shoved the towel off of him every chance he got. The poor kid faded in and out of consciousness so frequently it almost became routine. The few times that he could manage to hold his eyes open, Stan urged him to stay awake, and to eat the plain bowtie pasta. He didn’t eat very much over the course of that hour. Kyle gagged so many times that Stan was sure he would puke, and was so thankful when he didn’t.

Though to be fair, Stan didn’t blame him, he would probably vomit if the first thing he ate in twenty four hours was cold pasta too.

That’s why Stan was so eternally grateful when he heard Kenny and Ike knocking on the farmhouse door. From the bathroom, he could hear the tempered knocks against the door’s old screen, but he might as well have been listening to harmonious bells from the heavens. He was quick to get up and answer it.

When Stan pulled aside the front door, he was blessed with relief at the spectacle before him. Kenny, dressed in the same relaxed street clothes he wore the day before, carried bags of food in each hand and had a cheery smile on his face. Ike was more stern. He had a hard-nosed expression, and looked to be ten years older holding professional medicinal gear.

“Ay yo, we got the goods!” Kenny greeted, shaking the bags.

Neither Ike nor Stan laughed.

“What happened to Kyle?” Ike asked monotonously.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s something with his blood sugar. He doesn’t have any insulin, and I think he said he hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning. And even then, it’s not like he ate a lot.”

Ike swallowed, struggling to maintain his authoritarian presence, “Where is he?”

“Bathroom,” Stan answered, “Just at the start of the hall. On your right.”

Ike reached over into one of Kenny’s food bags and fished through it, searching until he found a plastic package of green grapes.

“For Kyle,” Ike justified snobbily, as if Stan were an idiot. He intentionally bumped his shoulder into Stan’s before moving along to the bathroom.

The quarterback made a move to follow him, but Kenny reached out for his arm, “Hey, bud, let’s give them their space for now.”

Stan pulled his arm away, “Not gonna happen.”

He turned around and started down the hall, but Kenny was right on his heels, “C’mon, let’s leave them be. How about we just catch up instead? I mean, don’t you want to eat breakfast first? You said you didn’t have any food.”

As if on cue, Stan’s stomach growled audibly.

“Um. I’m not hungry,” Stan said stupidly.

Kenny smirked, “Uh huh. Then do you have a little friend talking out of your ass or something? ‘Cause I could hear that from here, man.”

Stan grew defensive, “Why are you so keen on keeping me from following Ike? You’re starting to make me think you’re in on it, too.”

“Woah now,” Kenny slowed. In lengthy, durated movements, he put the food bags down on the ground and then raised his hands in the air, surrendering, “You need to slow your roll, dude. First off, I’m not ‘in on’ anything. I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but whatever it is, don’t accuse me of it. Second of all, I just thought the Broflovski bros might need some privacy. You know, brother to brother.”

Stan sucked his teeth, shaking his head, “Ike doesn’t deserve any privacy. He’s a creep. I know I’ve been saying that for years, but he really is a creep. He doesn’t deserve privacy.”

“Hey, man, don’t get mad at me,” Kenny negotiated, the spirit in his voice shrinking away, “When we were driving over, he just said some stuff about maybe needing to do a stomach pump or something. I mean, I don’t really know what it is, it was hard to follow what he was saying, it just sounded really personal to me. Like maybe something we shouldn’t see.”

“Oh,” was all Stan could say. He stood in the middle of the living room, turning over thoughts in his head.

“Do you know what it is? A stomach pump?”

“I think? I know about the stomach pumps at hospitals, but those aren’t for diabetes, they’re for throwing up or something. The diabetic pumps are like tubes that put insulin into the bloodstream, right? Something like that? ” Stan ran his fingers through his hair, “Damn it, I wish I hadn’t flunked biology.”

“Same here.”

“...”

Kenny gave a long, low whistle, “So. Want some breakfast?”

“I think my appetite’s gone.”

“A snack then?”

“I just want Kyle-”

“-Kyle’s things? I brought them right here, look,” Kenny produced a smaller satchel from inside the food bag and unzipped it, “I got all his sudokus. I got him one of those fidget cube things, too! I don’t think he has one, I borrowed this one from Tweak, and I think the Kylie-B could use it. Oh, also! I brought over some pornos! These aren’t Kyle’s either, they’re mine actually, guilty as charged, but you said to keep him happy and give him something to  _ do _ , so I-”

“-No. Ken. I meant to say I just want Kyle,” he hung his head low, “To be safe. I just want him to be safe. That’s the whole reason why I brought him here, but it seems that even by doing that, I risked his life…”

The intensity in Kenny’s eyes dwindled, and his blue hues softened at the edges, “Do you really mean that?”

Stan lifted his head, “Hm?”

“Did you really bring him here because you thought it would be safer for him?” he asked earnestly, but gently, “I mean, you have to look at it from our point of view, dude. You ran off just before nightfall, left your phones behind, and didn’t tell anybody where you were going or when you’d be back--if you’d ever be back at all. Just the way it all played out, it felt to us like you-... um… It just didn’t feel like his safety was your intent. At the time. From our point of view. That’s all.”

Tears triggered behind Stan’s eyes, he could feel himself choking up, but he forced himself to respond:

“Fuck you, Kenny.”

The blonde looked like he was punched in the face, “Um. I beg your pardon?”

Stan was trembling now, the tears in his eyes threatening to fall, “F-Fuck you. Kyle’s safety is  _ always _ my intent.”

“Well, I know that, dude, but- but at the time, it seemed-”

_ “-Always.” _

“...Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Kenny nodded, “Okay. I believe you. You’re my pal, dude, I believe you.”

A warm tear slipped from Stan’s eye and rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away, “I’m so glad. Thanks, Ken.”

Kenny held one finger, almost disciplinary-like, “Hold up. Don’t go soft on me just yet. I said I believe that that was your intent, I never said that I agree with the actions you took.”

“But Kenny,” Stan gaped, “You have to understand, I-”

“-Shut it. Don’t worry about it right now. Just go see Ike for now, sound good? Go check in on Ike and Kyle, like you wanted.”

“Kenny,” something sunk in Stan’s stomach as he stood there stupefied, “Wait, hold on. This doesn’t, I don’t- Can we talk about this at all? I feel like you’re not understanding, you just-”

Kenny smiled vibrantly, joy eminanting ear to ear, “Stanley Marsh, I would fuckin’  _ love _ a good talk. I’ve been tryna get one for a long time now.”

He patted Stan’s shoulder, “But for now, smooth your rough edges. Go check in on the Kylie-B and the creep. And, when you’re done, we can talk outside. I saw that you had rope swings outside, dude! Why didn’t you tell me you had rope swings here before? We can catch up there when you feel better, ‘kay?”

Stan wiped at his eyes, shaking his head, “Wait. No, Kenny, hold up. I don’t think you-”

-Kenny’s grip on Stan’s arm tightened. But his expression was still candid and ginger when he said, “I mean it, dude. Give yourself a little closure. Make yourself feel better first. Because we, you and I, we have a lot to talk about, dude.”

He gave Stan’s shoulder another good pat before giving him a look, one that Stan couldn't exactly identify. And then he headed out the front door with a bounce in his step, running for the rope swings until he was out of sight.

Stan didn’t know what to think. So he didn’t. He just didn’t think. He walked to the bathroom without a single thought in his head.

As soon as he arrived, he immediately regretted not better preparing himself for the scene he walked in on.

It wasn’t that the sight was gruesome or terrifying or anything like that, it was startling and unexpected. Kyle still lay on the bathroom floor, but now had his head leaning against Ike’s knee, while Ike sat upright, holding a square device in his hand that was connected to Kyle’s stomach area by a long tube.

The stomach pump. It made sense to him now.

It wasn’t anything Stan had seen before, not in the seventeen years he had known Kyle. It was honestly a little scary to see him on the floor, connected to a tube, resting fitfully against the knee of someone who hurt him. It was unnerving to say the least, but that wasn’t the part that daunted him the most.

Ike Broflovski was calm and composed as he did the work, while the half-conscious Kyle readily accepted. It was almost like this was something that these two had done before, maybe even several times before.

That was what daunted Stan the most.


	13. Chapter 13

Stan hated to admit it, but maybe Kenny had a point when he said that the Broflovksi brothers should be let alone, at least for the time being. Visually, Stan was slightly disturbed by the sight of a tube erecting from Kyle’s stomach and coming to rest in the palm of Ike’s hand. The display wasn’t disturbing in the sense that Stan was grossed out, because he wasn’t. It was just disturbing how  _ natural _ it seemed, this completely  _ un _ natural situation of Ike nursing his brother on the floor of Stan’s bathroom, knowing perfectly well that he was the same person who drugged him to sleep. It just didn’t sit well with Stan. It disturbed him, it really did.

Maybe Stan should just go speak to Kenny already, to clear his head. That certainly sounded better than standing around here and taking any more of this.

He pulled away from the door, but stopped, because as soon as he moved, Ike’s attention snapped upwards.

“Marsh.”

“Um. Hi,” Stan remained in the doorframe.

“How long have you been standing there?” Ike asked, though it didn’t sound like he really cared at all.

“Just got here. Um. Kenny said I was allowed to see,” he replied, sounding childish. His arms started to feel awkward at his sides, “I was just about to leave, though.”

Unexpectedly, Ike didn’t seem to be offended by Stan’s presence in any way. He looked more tired than anything, like he was too exhausted to put up his defenses. At the same time, though, Ike still maintained stern professionalism through his lethargy.

“Well, there’s not much to see,” Ike said, tapping a button on the device in his hand, “My brother is still quite… tenuous.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yes, of course, Marsh. You ask that like he’s on the verge of death,” with Ike’s free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the tubed device, he plucked a grape from the plastic bag and nudged it against Kyle’s lips.

The redhead himself was neither awake nor asleep. His eyes were open, but they were glazed over, almost like he was in a dream-like state. He didn’t seem to be aware of his environment whatsoever, he was in a state of total torpor. His limbs lay unmoving, the only part of his body that was upright was his head, that stood against Ike’s knee.

When the grape pressed against his lips, Kyle reluctantly opened his mouth and accepted it. He chewed it slowly, distractedly, his eyes still glazed over and staring off into nothingness.

“So… he’s not?” Stan asked, still nervously standing by the door. He tried not to look at the long tube emerging from Kyle’s sickly-looking side, but it was an absolute eyesore, and he found it difficult to not stare. 

“Not what? Be specific.”

“He’s not on the verge of death?”

Ike made a sound of annoyance as he stared at the screen of the insulin pump, “He’s not on the verge of death. But he’s really sick. I think he has diabetic ketoacidosis.”

“That-” Stan swallowed, his mouth painfully dry, “I don’t know what that means, it- it sounds sort of bad.”

“It means that there’s not a drop of insulin left in his body. It means his blood’s acidic, he’s losing weight, and his blood sugar’s…”

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

“...It’s strangely erratic right now,” Ike finished bitterly, a sour scowl on his face. He went on to feed Kyle another grape, “I mean, I’m not a doctor, so I can’t really diagnose DKA but that’s my best bet.”

Stan moved to sit down on the floor, crossing his legs, so that he was level with Ike, “DKA?”

“Would you rather me say ‘diabetic ketoacidosis?’”

“No…”

It was so bizarre the way Stan was acting with Kyle’s younger brother. He hated Ike more than he would like to admit, and nearly every interaction he had with him was tense, with both of them battling to get the upper hand. But Stan found himself submitting to Ike’s domineering presence, not because he was giving up, but because Ike just knew more. Stan had the unknown, Ike had the known. That meant he owed a great deal of respect to the creep, as much as he didn’t want to accept it.

Stan swallowed, “Does this mean he has to go to the hospital?”

“Most definitely.”

Stan tensed.

“But technically it doesn’t have to be right away, I don’t think,” Ike explained, satisfied as Kyle gnawed at another grape from his fingers, “DKA is a gradual thing. He must’ve been developing it for weeks. It’s safe for me to assume that Kyle just got really stressed out today, something like that, and he overworked himself and he fainted. We might have actually caught it early, who knows.”

Stan exhaled, a little more relieved.

But Ike went on, “I’d like him to get his strength back first, and then take him to the hospital. There’s not much the doctors could do if he won’t be able to communicate, after all.”

“So, what?” Stan asked, “Like in a few weeks?”

Ike stared at him like he was an idiot, “Like in one or two hours.”

“Oh,” Stan could feel himself shrivel up, the thought of losing Kyle preying on his mind. He had come so close, so remarkably close, to saving him, but now he was going to lose him all over again.

“Oh,” he repeated, his hands shaking in his lap, “Oh. Okay.”

Ike didn’t move a muscle. But Stan could tell from the mere look in his dark black eyes, that if he wasn’t currently bound to Kyle and the pump, he would have already lunged at his rival. Ike was like a stone statue, still as could be, but impossibly towering.

“Marsh, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I don’t like it. I can’t bring myself to even fathom how you thought it was okay to do what you did to Kyle, to just take him away and elope in the night like that, and then frisk him away to a place no one would find him,” he spoke daggers with his eyes, “Kyle is going to be okay. His sickness is only temporary. But you? You’re sick in the head, Marsh.”

Stan’s veins ran cold, as if they were filled with ice. He felt like frostbite was nibbling at the back of his neck when he was pierced by Ike’s unforgiving cold eyes.

“Well,” Stan started, his defiance warming him from the inside out, “That’s certainly interesting coming from you, after the stunt you pulled on him.”

Ike’s eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about?”

Before Stan could even bring up the topic of sleep medication, Kyle gave a quick jump in his brother’s arms, immediately sucking the attention of everyone in the room.

While Stan tried to scramble to his side, Ike was there first, assisting Kyle further up his knee.

“Hey, there, Kyle,” Ike greeted, “Is something wrong? You jumped.”

“Jus’ got a chill,” Kyle said, appearing legitimately awake and aware for the first time since he fainted, “Jus’ got cold… It’s cold.”

Stan was already on his feet, “Let me get you to a warm bed then.”

“No!”

“No-”

The brothers called out simultaneously.

Stan stopped short, confused.

“Why?” he asked a little dejectedly, “You’re cold. A bed would be nicer, wouldn’t it?”

“Coldness is just a symptom of DKA,” Ike said matter-of-factly.

But Kyle had a very different answer, “I like the floor… Let me stay here, please…” he whimpered almost desperately.

Stan was flabbergasted, “But Kyle, c’mon, that’s just-... That’s weird. We have so many good beds. The floor is cold, and gross a-and-”

“-He lies on the floor a lot,” Ike said, “He- I don’t know. He just lies on the floor a lot at home.”

The last line had an inscrutable weight to it, one that made Stan feel small in comparison.

“I’ve never seen him lie on the floor before,” he said avertingly, a little confused.

“He always does it after you leave, you simpleton. Don’t get so defensive. You’re the only one here who’s letting it be an issue.”

The device in Ike’s hand gave a little beep. Composedly, he detached the tube from under Kyle’s shirt and folded it neatly before placing it in the bathroom sink.

Stan watched with a bizarre sort of interest, “What’d you do that for?”

“Don’t think he could handle any more insulin if he tried. We’re all done for now. I need to clean the tube later.”

Before Stan could put in even a single word, Ike already riveted his attention back to the boy on the floor. Kyle still lay supine except for his head against Ike’s knee, but now Ike was advocating for him to sit up. Kyle visibly winced at the urge.

“Hey!” Stan charged at Ike, “Dude, cut it out! You’re gonna over-exert him!”

“Watch it,” Ike bit back harshly, “He’s fine.”

“Damn it, Ike, he’s gonna pass out again!”

“He needs to be challenged. How else is he going to get any better?”

The words were laden with goading. Ike was  _ right. _ It was a revolting thought that this abusive, horrifying, kid-genius had a very valid point. He was making Stan look like the irresponsible one.

He gave a grunt or two, but Kyle actually managed to pull himself upright, leaning his back against the wall for support. His uninjured leg was drawn into himself, the casted one remaining outstretched and slack. He was a little pale at the exertion, and his expression was completely void of life, but besides that, Kyle was perfectly intact.

Stan sucked in air, secretly hating how Kyle just proved Ike right.

Ike patted his brother’s shoulder approvingly, handing off a plastic bottle of water and prompting him to drink. Kyle did as instructed, though Stan could tell that he wasn’t really focusing. His eyes still maintained that glazed-over quality, like he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings. His expression didn’t change at all when Ike went on to feed him another grape.

As soon as he took his first chew of the fruit, Kyle made a face. He cringed back into himself, wrinkling his nose.

Ike chuckled, “Sorry, did I give you a sour one?”

Kyle didn’t answer his question directly. He just recoiled into himself, still chewing unwillingly, “I hate purple grapes.”

Stan and Ike shared a look.

Ike cleared his throat before proceeding, “No, Kyle. These are green grapes,” he held up another to prove his point, “See? Green grapes.”

Kyle wasn’t paying attention at all at this point, and that was painfully lucid. He just shook his head, staring off into nothingness as he swallowed, “I hate purple grapes.”

Something heavy sunk in Stan’s chest.

“Confusion,” Ike explained, apparently sensing Stan’s agitation, “It’s- It’s a s-symptom of DKA. Again, I’m not a doctor, but I’m finding it exceedingly difficult to dismiss any alternatives at this point.”

He reached for another grape, one that was most definitely green, before giving a nod to Stan in the doorway, “Why don’t you run outside and play with your dog? I think this is going to take a while, and I don’t want you here for all of it.”

“Dog? Sparky’s been dead for three years.”

Ike rolled his eyes snobbishly, “I mean McCormick. Your dog McCormick. Go play with him outside. I’m busy.”

For the first time in his entire life, Stan could have truthfully said that he hated that Kyle was there with him.   
He wanted to pound the living hell out of Ike right then and there, but with Kyle present, that was out of the question.

So Stan just made like a dog himself; he did what he was told.

He left the bathroom with his head hanging low, the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. The walk from the farmhouse to the rope swings couldn’t have been more than two hundred feet, but for Stan it felt like he was walking the length of five football fields. The front lawn, painted white by inches of snow, stretched on further and further with every step he took, little flecks of ice crunching under his shoes.

“Oh shit, did somethin’ happen? You’re moping.”

Kenny was swinging back and forth on one of the two rustic rope swings that hung from a large spruce. The tree wasn’t nearly as magnificent as Stan remembered. It looked quite sickly with its light bark and bare branches, and it absolutely looked smaller than when Stan last saw it. Even the rope swings appeared to be in a state of slight disarray, with little strands of rope poking out from the braids, making the swing shaggy and rough.

Kenny didn’t seem to mind. He swung back and forth, his head lolling back with joy when he was up in the air.

Stan just straddled the bottom knot on the swing next to him and sighed, “I don’t mope.”

“You mope all the time!” Kenny laughed, swinging backward now, “You’re doing it right now!”

The quarterback ran his hand along the coarse rope distractedly, but he didn’t swing. He stayed put with his feet grounded in the snow, “Sorry, Ken, I guess I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

Kenny did his best to slow down, struggling with gravity as he swung and laughing at himself for it, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Would you hate me if I said no?” Stan winced, “I know I promised you a talk, and I’m sorry, but right now just doesn’t feel okay. There’s the timing of it all, and there’s all this stuff I have to process right now and-”

“-Woah!” Kenny stilled his swinging now, “Hold your horses, cowboy! The talk that I wanted was just to catch up. Talking about your feelings is a completely different thing.”

“Really? I thought you were going to interrogate me or something.”

“Well,” Kenny tilted his head to the side, his floppy blonde hair falling over, “there are one or two...  _ things _ I wanna go over with you, at some point. Doesn’t need to be right now. But all together, I really do just wanna catch up with you, man.”

Stan couldn’t help but smile at the last sentence. For hours now, his mind had been nothing but Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, and now he was getting attention for himself. It felt exhilarating to actually receive such tender affection after spending so much time giving it.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Stan swung a little bit now, the heels of his shoes anchoring him to the ground, “That would be awesome, Kenny. I’d really like that.”

Kenny made a noise of contentment, “Aaah, I’ve been waiting so fucking long to hear you say those words! Where do you want to start?”

“Um. How are you doing?”

“Kinda freaking out with this whole sitch. You?”

“Same.”

“Bet. But let’s have a  _ real _ conversation please, none of this ‘how are you? Good, you?’ type conversations. They’re weird, they’re long, they’re boring,” Kenny waved his hand in the air, “How about… How’s football going?”

“Eh, it’s okay right now. We can’t do much because our season just ended, but my team and I still train together sometimes. It’s just not the same though.”

“Yeah, that sounds kinda harsh,” Kenny consoled, “They still use you for promos, though, right?”

Stan groaned, “God, sometimes I wish I wasn’t the all-star athlete in town. It was an accident really. I never wanted to be famous, I just wanted to play football.”

“Yeah, but you made our school famous nationally! You put us on the map, dude!”

“It’s not as fun as it sounds. I don’t really like the attention. But I haven’t been on the news or anything since our season ended, so the hype’s died down a bit. Football just isn’t on everyone’s minds anymore. I might try out for a winter sport just to keep busy.”

“Ooo, really? Like what?”

Stan shrugged, “I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t really given it much thought. I need to look into it more. It’s only an idea.”

“It might be good for you,” Kenny smiled, “Really. More than one sport looks good on résumés. Oh, speaking of, have you been thinking about what you’re going to do after we graduate?”

Stan was startled, “What, like career-wise?”

Kenny shrugged, “Sure.”

“I…” Stan found himself at a loss for words by a fluke, “I haven’t decided.”

Kenny gawked, “Dude! We’re seniors this year, you have to know what you’re doing after we graduate!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Tell me you at least applied to college.”

“Yeah, a few in-state schools. I’ve racked up a couple football scholarships that’ll pay for pretty much anything,” he swung on the rope a little as he talked, “But I still don’t really know. I mean, I can’t be the  _ only _ person who hasn’t decided what they’re going to be yet.”

“True. That’s true. But has Kyle?”

“Has Kyle what?”

“Has he decided what he wants to be?”

Stan gaped, “Of course he has. He’s had everything planned out since we were ten. He’s going to apply for MIT, Dartmouth, Penn State, University of San Fran, and Capella. He’s going to major in data science with a minor in front end design. When he graduates he’s going to find an indie startup company and invest in it, while doing some freelance white-hat-hacking on the side.”

“...”

“What?”

Kenny rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s just, uh, I find it interesting you know so much about Kyle’s future but you barely know a thing about your own.”

Stan shrugged, “He’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, but, he’s my best friend, too,” Kenny pointed out, “One of them. All you guys are my best friends, I don’t really rank you. But still. He’s one of my best friends and I didn’t know all of that.”

Stan shrugged again, “Pay attention more often.”

Kenny’s blue eyes were fixated completely on Stan. It reminded him of when they were back in his car on the side of the road, when Kenny was playing detective, trying to figure Stan out.

“Do you know all that stuff about my future, Stan?”

“...what?”

“It’s just a question. I’m only curious,” Kenny kicked off the ground and sent his rope swing into movement.

“Well, I-I mean,” Stan bowled over, “I mean, it’s not like you’ve had it planned since you were ten. I haven’t really had time to memorize all-”

“-Just tell me what I’m gonna be. Career-wise. That’s all.”

“...”

“...”

“...I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to be an emergency line dispatcher,” Kenny said simply. If he was upset, he didn’t show it. He just swung on the rope without a care in the world.

As the idea started to sink in, Stan felt a smile of amazement creep up on his face. 

That was the  _ perfect _ job for Kenny; it was astounding how he had never pictured him in the career before! Kenny was magically talented with assessing situations and always keeping his cool in them, no matter how dangerous they were. This was proven by the fact that an hour ago, he had spoken so sweetly, so composedly to Stan over the radio as he calculated what to do about Kyle’s dilemma. And as Stan knew all too well, Kenny was a highly skilled detective. He could always figure out just what was going on inside someone else’s mind.

And on top of all of this, Kenny has had first hand experience. Having been taken away from his parents by CPS as a child, Kenny knew exactly what things would feel like for a caller in distress, and he would be able to help them without fail.

“Dude, that’s literally the perfect job for you,” Stan praised.

Kenny just kept swinging, “Yeah, I know.”

“...”

“...”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Stan said.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Kenny said midair, “I don’t care, really. I’m not offended. It’s just, how do I-, hm. I just find it… interesting that you’re devoting so much time to Kyle when you’re hardly ever focused on yourself, or anyone else around you.”

“You’re worried?”

“More or less. … Yes. … Absolutely.”

Stan sighed, “And you call me the mama hen.”

“Am I, though?” Kenny asked, leaning backward against the rope swing as he flew, “I used to think I was overdramatic, just ‘cause I started worrying more and more. But then it occurred to me that the reason why is because you’re literally giving me more and more reasons to worry.”

“Come on, Kenny,” Stan groaned again, frustrated now, “How? How am I ‘giving you’ reasons to worry?”

Kenny jumped off of the rope swing. He landed perfectly on his feet, his front facing Stan. In a grand, swooping move, he opened his arms to gesture to the Tegridy Farms sign on the front lawn. Pointedly, and honestly quite agitatedly, he gestured again to the sign and asked sarcatically, “I don’t know. Why would this be worrisome?”

Before Stan was given the chance to merely  _ react, _ he spotted Ike trodding along the ice-laden dirt path towards them. 

Stan immediately stood up from the swing when Ike approached, suspicion boiling in his gut.

It wasn’t until he was up close that Stan was able to take in his bizarre state of being. Ike was covered in a quaint, green substance. It was splotched in patches over his shirt, sticking to the fabric by some sort of mucus. There was even a clump or two of it in his hair.

Ike’s eyes were wide, wide open. He looked like a deer in the headlights, stunned from head to toe.

And he smelled bad _. _ It was an odd trait to take note of, but it was true. He  _ reeked. _

Ike stiffened a little when he said, “Um. Kyle threw up.”

“Oh,” was all Stan could say.

“Yeah, um...” Ike glanced between Stan and Kenny hesitantly, eyes still very much widened, as if he were in a permanent state of shock.

Kenny busted out laughing.

Stan and Ike looked.

Kenny waved his hand, “Sorry, forget about me! I have bad timing! Oh God, ah!...” he sighed longingly, “Yeaaah, it’s hospital time, huh?”

Ike nodded fervently.

“Wait a minute,” Stan took the offensive now, the suspicion in his gut now steaming passionately, “No, you can’t. This isn’t right. You can’t just make calls like that, Ike.”

Ike was too overwhelmed to say anything in response.

So Kenny took initiative. He spoke exactly the way a dispatcher would, smooth and reassuring, “Stan, I think it’s a little obvious that we gotta take our pal to Hell’s Pass now. He’s already injured, but now he’s real sick. They’re gonna help him there.”

“That’s not true. Not if he’s just gonna go back to Ike and his parents. He’ll end up even worse.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with Ike? The parents are fixer-uppers, I’ll give you that, but Ike’s done nothing but help the whole time.”

Stan reached into the inner pocket of his coat and removed the plastic bag of pills, the “FOR KYLE” writing prominent on its surface. Both Kenny and Ike stilled as soon as the bag was in the air, both of them waiting with wide eyes for Stan to proceed.

“Remember when we were back at my house?” Stan prompted, feeling a rush of power at their fearful attention, “And I realized what he did to Kyle? It was just a theory then, but I proved it. Here’s the proof, right here. I found this in his desk drawer.”

Stan felt immense satisfaction when he saw Ike visibly go numb with dismay. He was already frozen solid, but now he was practically petrified in his stun.

Kenny was a little more grounded, “Well, that’s not really, I don’t think-... Ike, remember what we talked about on the drive over here? When I asked you about the drugging and you explained everything to me?”

Ike nodded stiffly, his head barely moving.

“Wanna explain that to Stan, here?” Kenny cued, “I think we’ll be doing my buddy a favor if we tell ‘im the truth.”

The Canadian had yet to break free from his fossilized state, stiff in the spine and still covered in vomit. His lips trembled a bit, as if trying to speak, but he seemed to be too aghast to get a single word out. It was extraordinary how docile Ike was; Stan had never seen him more vulnerable in his entire life, and he somehow found himself  _ liking _ this spineless milquetoast version of Ike.

Kenny must not have felt the same way. From where he stood, Stan could see the blonde soften as he looked at the younger, almost pitifully.

“It’s okay, dude, I’ll tell him. You can go wash up if you want,” Kenny said, indicating the green splotches on his shirt.

Ike folded immediately at the suggestion, and whipped around to rush back to the farmhouse, moving robotically but quickly. Kenny’s gaze trailed after him as he explained softly, “Hey, man, I was just as freaked out as you when we thought that Ike drugged him. It scared the hell out of me. I think I almost peed my pants, I was so scared. But he said he didn’t actually drug him, you know.”

Stan crossed his arms, “What lie did he tell you this time?”

“I asked him about it on the drive over here. He said that Kyle’s been having a real tough time falling asleep lately, so he asked his parents if he could get some kind of prescription from his doctor. They said no, of course, you know how they are. But Ike felt bad, he thought that the Kylie-B really needed it, so he found a way to locate some himself. You know how he has his resources.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Why not? It doesn’t seem that far-fetched to me. You know how frugal his stupid Jew parents are, they probably wouldn’t waste a nickel on him if given the chance. It sorta makes sense how Ike would wanna step in. It actually seems like a very chivalrous thing to do.”

Stan’s memory was lulled back to the first night he saw Kyle after the bus accident, and how he explained with tears in his eyes how his mom wouldn’t let the doctors examine his injured back. Stan had been completely dumbfounded. At the time it was so difficult to process why such an awful thing would be the case, back before Stan was even aware of half the severity Kyle was in. And that was only two days ago. It was insane how fast everything was changing.

“You know,” Kenny went on, looking at Stan now, “It also sorta seems like something you would do, actually.”

Stan felt like he was stabbed through the chest.

Kenny didn’t notice his disquietude, he just shrugged half-heartedly and said, “You know, going out of your way to do something dangerous, something a little controversial, for Kyle’s sake just ‘cause you care. You do that a lot. I guess this just might be Ike’s way of showing he cares, too.”

“Don’t compare me to Ike.”

“You haven’t noticed the similarities? I mean, you two even  _ look _ a little alike.”

“Kenny, please-”

“-And you’re both so grumpy all the time, like  _ geez-” _

_ “-Don’t _ compare me to Ike,” Stan said through gritted teeth. By a fluke, he felt himself tear up and his voice break when he said, “Please. I just- I don’t trust him.”

Kenny toned down, taking in Stan’s unguarded state of being, “He really bothers you, huh?”

“You have to understand, Kenny,” Stan urged, “If a kid with infinite knowledge, with unlimited resources, is already willing to illegally obtain prescription medicine only to help Kyle sleep better, then what more is he capable of doing if something really bad happens?”

“...Damn.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just-” Kenny was visibly startled, “-I haven’t thought of it like that before… I’m not gonna lie, I showed up to Tegridy Farms today thinking you were just having some sort of impulse dick move, and that you’d either get over it or get worse. But I think you’re starting to make a little sense.”   
He breathed, “Look, I’m sorry for not taking your opinion into consideration before, man. I’m still not entirely sure I agree with the actions you’ve taken so far, but I’m starting to dig where they’re coming from. Again, just to be clear, I’m still worried as fuck for you dude, but you’re not far gone.”

“...you thought I was far gone? As in, ‘going crazy?’”

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that,” Kenny’s tone was tender, but a little morose, “You’re not crazy. Maybe just a little lost? I don’t know. But your heart’s in the right place, and that’s what matters.”

“...Thanks, Ken.”

“Anything for you, dude, I mean that.”

They shared a moment together, snow drifting gently around them.

“Are you ready to go to the hospital?” Kenny asked, catching Stan off guard.

He wiped his eyes and refocused himself, “No.”

Kenny was already walking back up to the house, wordlessly hinting for Stan to follow him as he carried on conversation, “Yeah, hospitals can be pretty scary, huh?”

“It’s not that,” Stan said, falling in step with Kenny’s strides.

“Then what? Is something wrong?”

Stan blew air out of his nostrils, “Kyle doesn’t need it.”

“The hospital?”

“He doesn’t need it.”

“Huh,” Kenny said. He had fallen a little behind Stan’s pace, and scurried to catch up, “Did Ike tell you that?”

“No. I just know,” Stan said a little irately, not realizing how quickly he was walking.

“Did Ike say what’s wrong with him?” Kenny clapped a head to his forehead, “Oh, jeez. I didn’t mean to word it like that, it sounds a little offensive, huh? Like, nothing’s  _ wrong _ with him, he’s just, I don’t know, he’s just malfunctioning, let’s call it that. Did Ike tell you why he’s malfunctioning?”

“Yes.”

“And he doesn’t need hospitalization?”

“No. He probably does, I don’t know. He’s very sick,” Stan was trodding up the steps of the front porch now, opening the screen door.

Kenny raised an eyebrow and followed him inside, “But you just said he didn’t need it.”

Stan huffed, “All I mean to say is that if he goes to the hospital, he’s going to get worse before he gets better. I know that for a fact. We might as well just not take him at all.”

“Who’s going to get worse…?”

All eyes zeroed-in on Kyle, who appeared disheveled and exhausted as he stood there in the front room, leaning on the wall. He had his broken ankle raised in the air, his arm against the wall for support, and large puppy dog eyes as he looked up at Stan.

As ill-timed as it was, Stan couldn’t help but gush at the sight of his friend. Kyle was standing upright for the first time since he fainted, and he wasn’t even pale in the face. He genuinely seemed to be aware of his surroundings, too. His awake demeanour immediately brought a smile to Stan’s face.

“Hey, Kyle!” he greeted enthusiastically, “You’re looking a lot better.”

“Thanks, but I don’t really feel any better,” he muttered, looking between Stan and Kenny expectantly, “What’s going on?”

“We were just talking about how you don’t need to go to the hospital,” Stan explained, contentment bubbling up inside of him, “And from the looks of it, you really don’t. You’re looking so much better. You scared me back there, Kyle. I was really worried.”

Stan waited for the firebrand to bite back with a passionate: ‘You’re always worried, Stan.’

But it never came. 

Kyle just stood there against the wall, looking a little guilty, like he wanted to hide, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I guess I’m just not feeling my best.”

Stan’s heart swelled, “Oh, Kyle, it’s not your fault, it’s okay. It’s sort of my fault because I forgot to bring your insulin, but it’s here now, so we’re all good to stay. And look,” Stan found the bags Kenny brought in and carried them over, “Some of your things are here, too, so you can have something to do for a while. You’ll have to teach me the right way to do sudokus, though, I don’t think I’ve ever completed one without getting frustrated.”

Stan watched as Kyle looked over to Kenny, as if asking for a private explanation.

Before Kenny could say anything, Stan redirected Kyle’s attention to the bag in his hands. He took out a sheet of sudoku paper and held it directly in front of Kyle’s face.

“Do you want to try to start one now?” he prompted.

He watched as Kyle's expression went grim as he scrutinized the paper in front of him. He stared at the boxes on the sheet, but then pulled away, a hand covering his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “I’m dizzy, I can’t really see that well.”

Kyle looked over Stan’s shoulder to Kenny, “Are we going to the hospital, yes or no?”

“I thought it was a yes until a minute ago,” Kenny answered, appearing anxious as he wavered on his feet, “Maybe I should check in with Ike. Where is he?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Kyle put in, “He’s washing up.”

“Great. I’ll, uh, I’ll go talk to him,” Kenny said awkwardly before disappearing down the hall.

Stan let his gaze follow Kenny until he was out of sight, “Just you watch, Kyle, Ike’s going to swindle Kenny into taking you away…”

Kyle didn’t speak.

Stan weakened, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I just don’t feel good.”

“No, there’s something else,” Stan’s eyes narrowed with concern, “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

“...Ike’s really upset,” Kyle said, not making eye contact with Stan.

“What, because you puked on him?” Stan charged, “That’s a little rude. I mean, it’s not like you could help it. It’s not your fault. It happens, there’s no way around it. Hey, I’m real sorry you threw up, by the way, I know there’s no worse feeling in the world. Can I get you anything?”

“I mean he’s upset with _ you,” _ Kyle said guiltily, finally meeting Stan’s gaze, “Either he’s upset  _ with  _ you or he’s upset  _ at _ you, and either way I don’t like it.”

“Oh, Kyle…” Stan soothed. Kyle looked so ashamed, so utterly remorseful that it was tormenting for Stan to view from the outside. 

He placed his hands on Kyle’s shoulders, “Dude, are you worried for me? You don’t need to be worried for me. I can handle myself around him.”

“That’s the problem,” Kyle puled, “You guys are just, you’re always fighting. I hate it, okay? I’m sorry, it sounds stupid, I know it does, and I’m sorry, but I hate it.”

“Hey, Kyle, I can’t help it if he hates me. I know he probably talks bad about me all the time, and I’ll admit it I’m guilty of the same thing. I’m not perfect. But neither is he, and I can’t help it if he hates me.”

Kyle forced a shrug, “I mean, I don’t know, you could start by being less… self-destructive?”

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Stan asked, concern kindling inside of him, “Why are you acting like this?”

“God, I don’t know,” Kyle rubbed at his forehead more, “I feel like shit, I don’t know if that’s an excuse.”

“I mean, sort of. I get it. I can’t even imagine how sick you must feel right now, but I’m sensing some issues on a psychological level, too,” Stan kept his hands remaining on Kyle’s shoulders and rubbed them softly in support, “What’s on your mind?”

Kyle placed his own hands on top of Stan’s, staring down at the floor as he confessed, “I just keep thinking about what happened the last time I went to the hospital. With my mom, when she got all defensive and angry, and she-” his voice broke, “-and she didn’t let me get any help. Oh God, Stan, you would have killed her if you saw the way she was acting that day. You know how she gets. She was just so angry at all the poor doctors just trying to do their job, shutting them down. And she didn’t even listen to a word I had to say…”   
Kyle sniffed, “I’m sorry, I’m blubbering like an idiot. I mean, I know she’s not here right now, but I can’t shake the feeling that something, something like that, I-...”

“Oh, Kyle…” Stan’s heart bled. He gingerly removed his arms from his friend’s shoulders and embraced him in a large hug, “Kyle, I had no idea. I’m so sorry, that’s such a scary thought.”

Kyle hugged back, “I know, it might sound stupid, or pathetic, or something, and I’m sorry for that but-”

“-Shh, shh, shh,” Stan condoled, “Enough with the apologizing, goddamn it. Where’s that feisty punk from Jersey, huh?”

Instead of answering, Kyle just hugged tighter.

“It’s okay, I know you’re a little sick and you’re probably under a lot of pressure,” Stan eased, leaning into the hug, “But answer me this, okay? Does your mom scare you? And I don’t mean that as a joke, I swear. Does your mom legitimately scare you?”

“Sometimes. When she gets mean.”

“Okay,” Stan consoled, “And your dad? Does he scare you?”

“...Without a doubt.”

Stan’s heart was skipping beats, pounding irregularly and incredibly fast. The apprehension was invigorating inside of him, knowing that almost had Kyle right where he wanted him.

“Kyle, do you realize that if you go to the hospital, you have to go back to them?”

“...yes.”

“Then why go at all? Why not just stay here?”

“Because I feel so sick.”

“But you’re already doing so much better, look at you!” he pulled back from the hug so he could look Kyle in the eye, “Why would you want to go back home?”

“I-I was always under the impression I’d go back home, Stan. I thought we were just ha-hanging out for the night, and you’d take me home in the morning,” Kyle stammered, “I-I didn’t realize until today you planned on keeping me here...”

“You don’t need to go back if you’re just going to put yourself in more danger. You said it yourself! You’re afraid of going to the hospital and you’re afraid of going home. So stay,” he pulled him back into a hug, “So for the love of God,  _ stay.” _

“But Ike and Kenny-”

“-I’ll kick them out if you don’t want them here. I won’t let them bother you.”

“...you’re really serious about this whole thing aren’t you?”

“I can’t let you get hurt.”

Breaking the tender embrace was the explosive sound of the bathroom door slamming open, Kenny and Ike exiting hastily. Kenny was bouncing with anticipation, while Ike was more composed; it was impossible to not notice the dark water stains on his shirt.

“So!” Kenny clapped his hands together, “Are we ready to go?”

Stan pulled back from the hug. He leaned over on his knees, so that he was face-to-face with Kyle, and he made sure to look him directly in the eye when he asked him: “I don’t know, are we, Kyle?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Violence

“I don’t know, are we, Kyle?”

Stan’s question fell on deaf ears.

He had only said six words, six simple words that had no malice and no aggression to them, words that only offered sincerity and concern. But Stan was unexpectedly met by silence afterwards, neither Kyle, nor Kenny, nor even Ike made any move to speak.

Not only was the silence exceedingly uncomfortable, but it was concerning. 

It gave Stan the foreboding impression that tension may rise soon, and tension was the last thing Stan wanted right now. The only thing he wanted was to save Kyle; and he was already doing a poor job at that, considering both Kyle’s medical emergency and the fact that Stan had to call for help from Kenny and Ike not even a full day after they left home. 

He was on the verge of losing him again. The stakes were high. And honestly? They scared him.

So maybe tension wasn’t the last thing Stan wanted; losing Kyle was without a doubt the absolute last thing he wanted. He was so close to having to face this fear that it  _ hurt. _

That’s why he felt immediate relief when the voice of his super best friend spoke up in agreement in the small room of the farmhouse.

“I’m feeling better,” Kyle said, drawing in everyone’s unwavering attention, “I’m, um, I feel a lot better than how I did a few minutes ago. By a lot. Like Stan said. I, well, I was thinking that maybe I don’t need to go.”

“To the hospital?” Ike’s eyes were impossibly wide.

Kyle glanced at his younger brother, the mere sadness in his eyes asking for forgiveness, “Um, yeah, actually. I don’t feel like it.”

Kenny’s mouth dropped, “Dude.”

“I just don’t feel like going, okay?” Kyle almost pleaded.

“Why?”

Stan watched Kyle fold in on himself, hugging his arms and refusing to look anyone in the eye. This was a bad sign.

“Hey,” Stan stepped in now, keeping his voice soft but direct, “He said he doesn’t want to, isn’t that enough? It’s not like you can force him to go. It’s reasonable if he doesn’t want to, right? I mean, Kenny said it himself, hospitals are scary.”

Ike shot a side glare to Kenny, who put his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, I never told him to use it as medical advice, man, I was just speaking my stupid, uneducated opinion,” Kenny said with his arms raised.

“Kyle,” Ike directed, weakness ebbing into his otherwise stern tone, “I am speaking to you as both your brother and a student of medical science. Hospitalization is necessary. You know that. The fact that astounds me the most about this whole situation is that you know that, Kyle. After all the lectures Mom and Dad make you sit through, after all the scoldings they give you when you don’t eat, you _know_ that you’re really sick. I hate that you-... I just-... I am f-finding it very difficult to process why you would request such a stupid thing.”

“Ike,” Kyle whispered, trembling now. He somehow appeared both flushed and pale at the same time as his whole body swayed.

“I- I think I’m gonna faint again-… Don’ wanna talk now...”

The darkness in Ike’s unforgiving irises softened, and his posture relaxed in turn. The expression on his face reminded Stan of the one he had worn after he had been subject to the unexpected upchuck of green grapes. He was ostensibly floored, going almost as pale as his older brother.

Without giving any attention to Stan, Ike took Kyle by both arms, entirely tame in his embrace, and led him to a nearby couch. He held him with a quality so sweet-tempered and dove-like that it was impossible to imagine the intensity that this kid was used to possessing. It was also so difficult to imagine that this poor kid was only fourteen, he acted with grace and maturity far beyond his years.

After he ensured Kyle was seated, and thankfully still conscious, Ike kneeled down on the hardwood floor in front of him. He was almost apologetic when he looked up to his sickly brother on the couch. It was a posture so unbecoming of him.

“Kyle, that was…” Ike visibly strained to keep himself under control, “...utterly inappropriate of me. You didn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t have coerced you the way I did, I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

“Not your fault…” Kyle slurred, clearly on the verge of passing out. Though being the stubborn punk he was, he noticeably put up a fight to stay awake, “You’re jus’ being a good brother, you’re a good brother…”

“You can rest if you want, you don’t have to over-exert yourself-”

“-You’re a good brother…”

Stan couldn’t help but silently loathe the words.

“Thank you, Kyle, but sleep if you want and the rest of us will-”

“-Ike?”

“Yes?”

Kyle covered his face, “Ike, I’m sorry…”

Ike lowered himself even closer to the ground, “Kyle, you have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault. What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“‘m sorry you’re adopted… still love you… promise...”

By whatever strange magic it was, Kenny, Ike, and Stan found themselves all smiling at the comment. It was so strangely timed, and so  _ blatantly _ just a product of Kyle’s confusion, but it was peculiarly heartwarming. 

Ike was noticeably doing his best to hold back laughter, while Kenny just put his hand over his heart and mouthed the word “sweetheart” to Stan, who was endearingly touched.

It was a break in tension that Stan could safely assume none of them saw coming. He was grateful for it nonetheless. Just the humanity of the moment reminded him of the reason why he was fighting this battle in the first place. He was fighting for his super best friend in the whole wide world, just a kid who he loved. The moment furthermore reminded him of who he was fighting against, just two more kids, just a friend and a frenemy with different views on some subject.

It taught him something new, too. It taught him that this was a war of love. This scrimmage he was having with Ike and Kenny, this was all out of love. And something about that was just sensational.

Stan felt himself relax a little, his tight limbs releasing.

Ike was the first to recover from Kyle’s comment, though it was worth noting that even though his smile was gone, there remained a glint of happiness in his eyes.

“Kyle, that’s not-... I’m not concerned about that right now,” Ike struggled to be eloquent, “Thank you, but I’m not concerned with that. I accepted it a long time ago, and you did too, may I remind you. We’re not worried about me being adopted. We’re worried about you.”

The redhead just sniffed, “I feel sick…”

“Kylie-B,” Kenny cut in now. He followed Ike’s example by squatting down on the floor in front of him, “Your baby brother here told me you got diabetic ketoacidosis. You realize that you’re sick, you know, and they can help you there.”

“Do… Do you even know for certain if I have it?”

“Well, yeah, actually. Diabetic ketoacidosis has the tendency to start after injuries, right Ike? And, like, um, you  _ were _ just hit by a bus, and weight loss is usually a major part of it, and you’re not good at taking care of yourself- No offense to you, of course. But it all sorta lines up, dude. They can help you at the hospital.”

Kyle looked past them, and looked right to Stan, pleading for instruction with his eyes. Stan felt his heartstrings pull, partly because the look was just so sad, but also because he didn’t know what it was that Kyle wanted. He was asking for something with those doleful green eyes, but Stan couldn’t understand what, and that made him worry.

All Stan did was give a reassuring nod in response, hoping that would at least settle Kyle down before he overworked himself and fainted.

Kyle relaxed a little after Stan gave him the nod, leaning back into the cushions of the couch. His uninjured foot started tapping, and everyone noticed it.

“I just don’ want to go home after…” Kyle confessed, going even paler.

Ike was unfazed, “I’m sorry, but there’s no other way around it. You know very well that you are in a very dangerous situation right now, Kyle. You’re smart. You're a salutatorian for crying out loud. You’re  _ very  _ smart. You know what you have to do, but you’re denying it.”

Kenny gave the cast around Kyle’s broken ankle a light pat, “I’m not tryna embarrass you or anything, Ky, but back when I was checking up on Ike in the bathroom, he said you were pretty much begging him to go to the hospital. Like, he said you were crying. And you’re, uh, you’re like me, you’re not really a crier. So I have to ask, what changed your mind, dude?”

Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a single word out, his brother beat him to it.

Without warning, Ike grabbed Kyle’s wrist to urge him to stay awake. When he had Kyle’s attention, he scolded softly, “It was Marsh, wasn’t it? He convinced you to change your mind just to spite me.”

“Hey, man. Don’t touch him, he’s weak,” Stan shot back, “Lay off.”

“No!” Kyle defended in Ike’s grip, “No, it wasn’t Stan. We were talking, yeah, we were talking, but he didn’t do anything, okay? It’s-... I just don’t want to go hom- I mean, to the hospital. That’s all. I just don’t want to go.”

Ike shook his head now, irritation evident in his dark eyes, “No, no, I don’t believe it. T-This is-...” he cleared his throat, “Excuse me. This is a life or death situation, Kyle, you know that.”

Stan could feel a batting ram slam into him at the very words. His very breath was knocked out of him. 

“Kyle-” he started, trying to approach the couch where his best friend sat.

With his free hand, Ike pointed Stan in the face, “You, step back. I’m done with your tomfoolery. I’ve been tolerating it for too long, and look where that’s got us. I’m done. I need to hear what Kyle wants without your influence.”

Kyle tugged his wrist, unable to free it from Ike’s grip, as he stammered a response, “I just- I don’t really need it. B-Besides, the hospital’s overrun with Corona patients, right? They’re asking people to only come if they really need it-”

_ “-You _ need it, Kyle. You vomited the only food you’ve had in twenty four hours.”

Kyle looked to Stan in distress, wordlessly pleading for an intervention. Stan tried to console him, but Ike stepped in again.

“No, not a word from you,” Ike ordered, “Kyle’s going to speak for himself. He doesn’t need you.”

“You are not in charge here, Ike. Don’t forget this is my house.”

“This is your dad’s forgotten weed station. Open your eyes before someone gets hurt.”

“Let go of his wrist, before  _ Kyle _ gets hurt!” Stan cried.

“I refuse to listen to you!” Ike fired back. He redirected his attention to his brother, coercing and belittling him with his dark eyes, “Don’t look at him, look at me. Look at me. Tell us what you want. We’re all listening. No one is here to hurt you, all we need is the truth. Why are you saying such awful things, Kyle?”

When Kyle didn’t respond, Ike drew his wrist in closer and begged, “You always have so much on your mind. Speak. I beg of you.”

Stan was the first to notice how madly Kyle’s wrist shook in Ike’s death-grip. His fingers drained of their pink color, turning a ghastly white as they convulsed violently.

“Don’t need it-!” Kyle cried, “Don’t need it, don’t want it- I- There’s- W-We have food here, and insulin, and-”

“-Insulin won’t save you this time!” Ike shot back, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, “Your blood sugar was so sporadic that the stomach pump was physically incapable of reading it! I didn’t tell you that before, because I didn’t want to worry you-”   
He cast a sideways glance to Stan, “-or your psychotic vampire boyfriend here, but your brainwashing has left me no choice.”

Kenny stood up from his squat now, “Okay, I’ve had enough of this. Kylie-B’s just talking out of his ass and the two lookalikes over here are having a little feud. May I remind all of the assholes in this room that this is not about us, it’s about him.”   
Kenny laughed, but it was not out of merriment. His anger was evident in his coarse laughter, “Why did I never realize how fucking selfish you two are?!”   
He sighed, though he was far from relaxed. If anything, Kenny was even more agitated when he said, “Jesus Christ, I am going to need some therapy after this. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.”

He turned to face the boy on the couch, arms akimbo.

“Kyle?” he asked, addressing him with his given name, “Let’s go. C’mon.”

Kenny pushed Ike aside and moved to gather Kyle in his arms. He tucked one arm under his knees and moved to hoist the other one around Kyle’s back--

\--Stan saw it coming before anyone else did, “Kenny, don’t touch his-!”

The cry that escaped from Kyle’s sickly frame was unlike anything Stan had ever heard before. It was something so feeble, but so pained and agonizing that raw, unadulterated heartbreak resonated with everyone who bore witness to hearing it. There was no other sound in existence to which it could be compared, it was just so anguished and lamentable. Stan could swear he watched Kyle die in front of him, falling down a pit of darkness and reaching for Stan’s hand in the last moment before he fell…

Kenny reared back instantly, raising his hands above his head and jumping back ten feet until he was pressed against the other wall. His bright blue eyes were wide and full of fear.

Ike gawked at him, expression furrowing into an angry scowl, “McCormick, what did you  _ do?” _

“I am  _ so _ sorry, I’m so sorry, I- I have no idea! Kyle!” Kenny blared, voice shrill. He pressed himself back against the wall, “Kyle, I’m so sorry, I have no idea what I did! Are you okay? What’d I do?!”

But Kyle couldn’t respond if he tried. He was so scarily close to fainting that he swayed back and forth, even while sitting on a couch. With one hand against his forehead, he just waved the other one to Kenny, as if in forgiveness.

Ike stood up now, “That’s it,” he grabbed Kyle by both wrists, “I’m taking you to the hospital if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Don’t fucking grab him like that!” Stan cried, “He’s not your fucking doll, you’re going to hurt him!”

“Like you care,” Ike snarled back, yanking Kyle up on his feet.

Despite Stan’s protests, Kyle’s body responded like that of a ragdoll’s. When Ike pulled him upwards, he just rose, his body completely under Ike’s control.

“I do care!” Stan roared back, getting uncomfortably close, “Don’t fucking touch him like that!”

“You better watch your language and step away from me Marsh, or I  _ swear-” _

“-Ike…?” Kyle managed to mew out, dangling from his wrists in Ike’s grasp.

“Kyle, you’re going to strain yourself. Stop being so stubborn and just-”

“-I don’ wanna go home…” Kyle cried, leaning against his brother just to stay conscious, “‘m going to get in trouble…”

Ike softened. In fact, he weakened so much by the words that Kyle went limp in his arms.

Stan was quick to grab him, and held him protectively upright before he fell.

To Stan’s surprise, Ike didn’t seem to mind. He was still just too stunned by his brother’s words.

He actually looked like his age for the first time in his life. He appeared small, childlike. He honestly looked like the perfect picture of a lily-white kid, once sinister eyes now filled with innocence and love as he took in the sight of his older brother.

Stan almost pitied him. Almost.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Ike started. Little by little he was gaining control of himself, and Stan could see it. Stan wrapped his arms tighter around Kyle in preparation.

“Oh, fuck it,” Ike said, self-assured now, “I’ll just say it. Kyle, I would  _ much _ rather you go to the hospital and get beaten for running away with Marsh and the car, than not go to the hospital at all!”

Whatever was left of Stan’s withered, abused heart, it died right then and there.

“I knew it…” Stan whispered. The victory of being right tasted far from sweet, it was sour and repulsive in the back of his throat.

“Mom and Dad are gonna kill me…” Kyle whimpered in Stan’s unyielding arms.

“DKA is going to kill you!” Ike screamed.

Stan reared back, Kyle going with him in his grasp, “Don’t yell at him. He’s going through a lot.”

“Let go of him, Marsh!” Ike shouted, grabbing Kyle by the shoulders and trying to wrench him free, “Kyle, you know Stan won’t listen to me! You have to tell him yourself that you want out! You have to tell him! Tell him!”

“Stop touching him like that!” Stan reared back again, keeping his friend locked up in his arms.

“Kyle, tell him!”

Kenny was screaming things from afar, but nothing he was saying registered.

“Kyle,  _ say something!” _

When Kyle didn’t respond, Ike finally snapped. He slapped his brother so hard across the face that Stan could swear he felt the sting along with him. Kyle immediately went limp at the strike, falling back into Stan’s arms. Kyle had been fighting so hard to stay conscious, and that slap was the last thing he could take.

Stan stumbled backwards, not because Kyle’s entire weight was thrown on him, but because of sheer stun. He managed to recover and hold his friend upright, but it was impossible to shake the major blow he just witnessed.

He had always known Ike was untrustworthy, but he never imagined how far the kid would go under pressure. Advocating to take Kyle away was horrible enough, but physical violence against Kyle was repugnant. It was repulsive, and vile, and Stan refused to play a fainéant to his actions any longer.

Stan laid Kyle back against the couch, keeping his head above his shoulders, before throwing the worst punch he could ever muster right at Ike’s jaw.

Ike cried out, and then careened backwards, covering his mouth with his hands.

Stan launched himself forward to clob him again, but Kenny was there to hold him back.

“Stan! Guys! Stop it! C’mon now!” Kenny cried, wrestling Stan backward until he was red in the face.

“Get off, Ken!” Stan shrieked, knocking him with a sloppy punch, just to get him out of the way.

Kenny reeled, but he didn’t fall. He fought to keep his friend still, but Stan refused to back down. He bucked Kenny off of him and approached the cowering kid on the floor.

He grabbed Ike by the hair, forcing him to look Stan in the eye when he declared, “Nobody hurts Kyle!”

“I- But I was only-” Ike scrambled for a response, rearing up to defend himself.

“That kind of fucking injustice might happen at your house, Ike-” Stan started, Kenny now wrestling him from behind while he still held Ike hostage by his hair. He just kept fighting as he continued, “-You are not going to touch him like that ever again, because he’s never going home.”

“Stan!” Kenny shrieked, trying to pry his fingers from Ike’s scalp.

“I promise! He’s never going home! I’ll make sure of it,” Stan brought Ike eerily close to his face when he said, “And he’s never going near you again.”

Despite Ike’s indisputable fear, he managed to stand his ground with one more line, “You’re doing something terribly wrong, Marsh. I hope you know that.”

“I promised I’ll look after him, and that’s exactly what I’ll do,” Stan said, before throwing Ike back against the floor, Kenny clinging to him like a mother would a child. They crash landed together, Kenny shielding Ike’s smaller frame, against the screen of the front door.

“Now get away from here!” Stan demanded, breathing ruggedly.

“Not without Kyle!”

“He’s not going to the hospital, he’s not going home, and he’s not going with you!”

Ike made a move to get up and defend himself, but Kenny pulled him back down, scolding, “No more! No more of this shit! Let’s just leave, Ike!”

“Not if he’s going to kill Kyle!” Ike cried, trying again to get up.

But Kenny kept his hold, squeezing the younger tightly to his chest, “Don’t you worry, it’s okay, things are gonna end up just fine!”

Kenny gave Stan a look he had never seen before. He wasn’t afraid, not from what Stan could see, but he was both furious and composed at the same time. Kenny just kept giving that look when he said, “Stan’s gonna get in trouble, Ike, don’t you worry. He’ll get his. Let’s go now, right now, okay?”

Ike trembled in Kenny’s arms, staring Stan dead in the eye, “You can’t withhold medical attention.”

“I never said I would,” Stan said, voice breaking. His voice may have quivered, but physically, he was as strong and unyielding as ever.

Ike made another jump at Stan, but Kenny kept him grounded.

“Ike,” Kenny soothed. He spoke softly, but there was an obvious sense of control in his tone, “There’s a police station less than a ten minute drive from here. We’ll explain everything and come back.”

Stan did not falter.

But Ike was satisfied. A glint of his true self, his intimidating, black-hole self, flashed through his eyes for the first time that day. He stood up from Kenny’s hold, but not aggressively. Piercing Stan dead-on with his unforgiving dark eyes, he rubbed his jaw, which was already starting to bruise.

Again, Stan did not falter.

Ike then spat on Stan’s shoe, and then promptly ran out of the farmhouse, the screen door slamming shut behind him

Kenny rose with less eagerness. He lingered as he stood, looking Stan up and down, inspecting him.

“I don’t get you anymore, dude,” Kenny said morosely, his blonde hair nestled with knots and dirt.

Stan swallowed, “I could say the same about you, Ken... I don’t get why you’d let your best friend take abuse like that, and then defend the creep who hit him from your second best friend. I was only protecting him, Ken. You saw it with your own eyes.”

“You right. I saw it. Poor baby…”

“I mean, don’t you see how wrong that is? We all promised each other when we were eight years old that we were going to look out for each other, dude.”

Kenny sighed deeply, burrowing his hands into the baggy pockets of his worn out street pants, “I am looking out for you, man. Just in a different way, I guess. … Okay, I know you’re the last person on planet earth to want to hurt Kyle, but I need you to promise me right here and now that you are not going to let him get any sicker.”

“I swear on my life,” Stan teared up.

“Good.”

“Good. … I shouldn’t be telling you this, since you’re going to bombard this place with police officers who’ll want my head on the wall, but fuck it. I, um, I already have a plan. Sort of. I know a place that’ll help him, it’s a place his family won’t find.”

Kenny shrugged, though he was anything but uncaring. He honestly looked like he was on the verge of crying, too.

“I figured you would,” Kenny sniffed, “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

In the distance, the blaring horn of Kenny’s truck could be heard.

Stan’s mouth went dry, “Ike’s pissed, huh?”

Kenny laughed. A tear rolled down his flushed face as he shook his head sadly, “That kid’s gonna kill you.”

“I know.”

“...we’re in the shits now, huh?”

“I guess so. But- But Kenny, just for your information, you’re in the wrong just as much as I am.”

“Facts, man. I know that. I know…”

Kenny lingered just a moment longer. He put his hand on the handle of the screen door, “We’re coming to find you, okay? You’re the love of my life, man, no homo, but I fuckin’ love you, and I ain’t gonna let you get away with this.”

The tears were so close to falling that Stan’s vision was now blurry. He rubbed his eyes before he could fitfully cry, all the while saying, “You’re gonna eat crow, Ken.”

“Only time can tell, right? It all depends on him, and what he says or doesn’t say,” Kenny sniffed, “Look after the Kylie-B for me.”

“You know I will.”

“Yeah,” Kenny whimpered now. He cast one last glance to the unconscious redhead sprawled over the couch, eyes revealing a sorrowful longing, but also an undeniable fear. He waved his hand goodbye, more so to Kyle than Stan, and then turned around and walked out the front door. As the screen door closed, Stan watched him jog off to the driver’s seat of his truck, before putting it in reverse and speeding out of his line of sight.

Stan took a moment to breathe.

He had maybe ten minutes before they returned with the police. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do, but he had a few ideas. The police force in town was a rather unreliable one, as proven several times growing up when he needed their help (really, they let Eric Cartman get anyway with anything). They often had a very skewed perception of emergency circumstances, and even more so often took inappropriate (usually violent) actions to handle situations. 

All Stan knew for certain was that Ike Broflovksi was not going to stop until he had Kyle again, and that was something Stan forbade from happening. Kyle was not going to get hurt again.

“Kyle,” Stan whispered, turning back to his unconscious friend on the couch.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stan could see the plastic water bottle Ike left behind. There wasn’t much water left in it, only a few inches really. Making the best out of what little he had, Stan unscrewed the lid of the bottle and tossed the water on Kyle’s face to wake him.

Kyle gave an immediate jump, jolting awake and gasping.

Stan admittedly felt a little bad, but he knew it was for the better. He put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder, “Hey there, you awake? You okay? I can’t let you faint on me again, Kyle, I need you to stay awake, can you do that for me?”

Kyle wiped at his wet face, but nodded his head.

“God, Kyle, you’re the best. You really are. Thank you,” Stan praised. He quickly dug through one of Kenny’s food bags, and to his immediate relief found a sports drink buried under snack packages.

“Hey, I need to pack some things for a bit,” Stan said, unscrewing the plastic lid of the sports drink, “Can you try to drink this for me while I do that? I’m sure you need electrolytes. Even a little would help.”

Kyle took the bottle without complaint, squinting at the label as he turned the bottle over between his hands. 

Stan paid him little attention as he went around the room collecting all the various supplies Kenny left. (He really needed to thank Kenny after all this was said and done.) He didn’t forget to go to the bathroom and retrieve the stomach pump, tube, and diabetic bag still scattered around the floor.

When Stan returned to the front room, he was immensely dissatisfied to see that Kyle had yet to take even a small sip from the sports drink.

“Kyle,” he sighed, trying to keep his voice under control despite his concern, “What’s going on, dude? Why haven’t you had any?”

Kyle visibly strained to speak coherently, “Probably it’d kill me-...”

“Why would it kill you? It has electrolytes, it’s really good for when you faint, and it’s easy on the stomach so you won’t throw up again.”

“Sugar content…”

They were just two little words, but they had a tremendous impact on Stan. His mouth dropped when he stopped to process just what exactly those words meant.

They made him realize that his lack of knowledge nearly killed Kyle.

Stan was deep in the unknown now. One of his worst fears had come to life; he had no idea what he was getting himself into. The path Stan was now travelling down was so dark that he couldn’t see ahead. It was so ominous, so cryptic, but so desperately necessary. The life of his best friend rested in his hands, but he could barely see an inch in front of his face in the darkness of what he didn’t know.

Kenny had worded this time as “in the shits.” It was an equally correct description.

This was something Stan had to change. He had to do better. He had to take better care of him. Kyle was depending on him, and he had to provide; because there was no going back now.

Kyle looked up from the bottle now, scrutinizing Stan from a distance, “...Stan, you okay? You have a weird look on your face.”

“Oh. Uh. Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“What’s with all the bags?” Kyle asked, leaning to the side.

Stan did his best to focus, “We’re, um, we’re leaving.”

“Leaving Tegridy Farms?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking you to a clinic,” Stan said. He decided that a while ago; he told Kenny that he was taking Kyle to a place where he could get better, didn’t he? Now Stan’s decision was more strong-willed and pertinent than ever before. This clinic may be the only possible way Stan could get Kyle immediate medical treatment without having to lose him.

He readjusted the bags in his arms, “I’m going to go load up the car. I’ll come back for you.”

“I can walk.”

Stan stalled. He subtly gave a gesture to the cast around Kyle’s ankle, “Can you?”

“...Shit,” Kyle sighed and rubbed his temples, “I forgot.”

Stan tried not to express just how concerned he was. He cleared his throat, “I’ll, uh, I’ll go load up the car then. Be right back.”

After filling the backseats of Gerald Broflovksi’s car with the supply bags, he started the engine to make for a quick escape. He then returned to the farmhouse to see Kyle’s tenuous state of being. Though he was conscious, his eyes were glazed over again, his head resting on his right hand. It was almost like he was in the seam of being both awake and asleep at the same time.

That’s why it caught Stan completely by surprise when Kyle started speaking:

“You didn’t have to hurt him, you know,” Kyle said, staring off into nothingness.

Stan’s heart quickened, “I, uh, I didn’t think you saw that. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry I saw it, not sorry you did it,” Kyle retorted, a little spice of the firebrand he used to be settling into his tone, but he still possessed an overwhelming presence of sadness. It was all over his face.

“But, Kyle,” Stan started, “He was the one who hurt you, don’t forget that. He literally knocked you out.”

“Yeah, but-”

“-Don’t defend him. He hurt you.”

“But Stan-”

“-He raised a hand against you!”

“He’s just a  _ kid _ .”

“Kyle,  _ we’re _ just kids.”

Stan’s words must have really struck a chord with Kyle, because he didn’t have anything more to say. 

He didn’t even say anything when Stan picked him up and carried him to the car, which had its engine running and was ready to take off. 

Stan managed to drive away before hearing a single police siren, driving onward down an old country road he knew well, a road he knew would not be followed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I know some people are sensitive to needles, so I just thought I should note that there are mentions of intravenous therapies in this chapter. Nothing is in detail, it's only mentioned, but I thought I would still clarify this beforehand.

“Hey, Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“You feeling well enough to talk?”

“More or less.”

They had been driving for about fifteen minutes now, and not one other car was anywhere in sight. The road was an old one, weathered down by years of snow and drivers. Even the yellow line down the middle of the road didn’t exist anymore, it had been rubbed away years ago, probably before Stan was even born. The snow and ice from the recent blizzard made it difficult for Stan to keep straight, especially because this long-forgotten country road had not been salted for safety.

Ideally it was not a very safe road to drive on. Stan didn’t really have a choice, though. He needed to get Kyle help.

Luckily, Stan was still driving in Gerald Broflovski’s car. It handled extremely well compared to Stan’s own dinky lemon car. He was able to keep it straight even on the hazardous road with ease. Gerald’s car was just a much better ride in general. This car had air conditioning, imported leather seats, and a modern touch screen stereo.

Stan drove as smoothly as he possibly could, knowing very well that Kyle was already fatigued and dizzy. The last thing he needed was a bumpy ride.

Though it was worth noting that Kyle did visibly appear a bit better. He was as white as a ghost and his eyelids were only open halfway, sure, but he stayed awake, much to Stan’s satisfaction.

A little while into the drive, they had found the fidget spinner Kenny left for Kyle in one of the bags. It was an odd trinket, certainly one that neither Stan nor Kyle thought they needed, but it proved to be miraculously helpful. Turning the little wheels around in his hands gave Kyle something to focus on, a little challenge for him to stay conscious and to keep his brain active.

Stan intended on having a quiet ride. He wanted to just let Kyle play with his toy and drive on in content silence knowing that Kyle was still awake. Stan needed to be the calm and composed one, for once. He needed to be Kyle’s rock. Kyle didn’t have anyone else, and his health was declining rapidly. Stan needed to be strong for him.

But as much as Stan tried to just keep strong and quiet, and let Kyle have his space, there was still an overwhelming desire inside of him to ask something he probably shouldn’t ask. So much was already weighing him down after all the traumatic events just earlier today, and it was all becoming too much to handle.

“Good then,” Stan said, pulling himself away from his thoughts. He kept speaking calmly and composedly, “Let’s talk. It’ll help keep you awake.”

“Okay,” Kyle spun the fidget spinner in his fingers, watching the colors swirl around and meld together, “Where are we going again?”

Stan bit his lip, but he tried not to show it.

“We’re, uh, we’re going to a clinic, Kyle,” Stan said for the third time that road trip, “We need to get you fixed up.”

Though Kyle was doing much better at staying conscious, his confusion seemed to be worsening.

Just another reason why the clinic was necessary.

The place where Stan was taking Kyle was a clinic he trusted personally. It was the only medical facility he sought out for his concussions. It was also the place he took his football teammates whenever they were unexpectedly injured, mostly because the clinic was free and the staff there didn't ask many questions.

But it wasn’t a shady, unlicensed joint or anything like that. It was actually a very trusted medical facility, a little unorthodox, but trustworthy. It was just about the closest thing they had to free healthcare.

Times like these were the only times in Stan’s life that he could say he really wanted to live in Canada. That free health care stuff really sounded nice.

“Okay,” Kyle said, his tenuous attention still focused on the little toy in his hands, “Hey, where’d this come from?”

“The fidget spinner? Oh, Kenny brought it over,” Stan pretended to adjust the rearview mirror as he talked, “He said it was one of Tweak’s, but he thought it would help you so he brought it. Do you think it’s helping you focus?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s pretty...”

“Pretty what?”

“Pretty nothing. Just pretty.”

The road was now straight enough that Stan could afford to relax, so he took the time to look at Kyle in the passenger seat next to him. His easeful body posture gave the impression that he was asleep, but the sheer focus in his green eyes on the spinner revealed otherwise. He was very much awake, albeit confused and disoriented, but awake. 

What Stan didn’t know was if Kyle was genuinely feeling better or if he was straining himself to stay conscious for Stan’s sake.

Now that Stan was inspecting him up close, he could clearly see a bright pink mark prominent on Kyle’s cheek. It was appalling that Stan had not noticed it before, the mark was vivid, and looked to be exceptionally painful. Stan’s own face stung just looking at it.

“Dude,” Stan breathed, his breath hitching, “Is that where your brother hit you?”

“Hm?” Kyle raised a hand to his face, and then winced when his fingers touched the mark, “Oh. Yeah, I guess.”

“Does he do that a lot?” Stan asked. He did his best to shield his anxiety by keeping a straight face. He didn’t know if his mask worked or not; on the inside he was practically boiling with concern.

“What, slap me?”

“S-Sure. Or just… use physical violence against you.”

“No, not really,” Kyle spun the spinner, “He really doesn’t. You shouldn’t go after him like that.”

“But this wasn’t the first time he’s hit you,” Stan dared to say.

The spinner stopped in Kyle’s hands, “... well, no.”

Stan bit his tongue to hold him back from saying vulgar things. He sped up the car, his anxiety drowned out by the roaring of the engine as the vehicle accelerated. Both Stan and Kyle were pushed back into their seats at the force of the acceleration, Kyle actually grabbing onto the overhead handlebar in fear.

“Dude!” Kyle exclaimed, “Don’t be like that. Don’t be mad at him. He’s just a little bit of a hothead. Like, have you  _ met _ my family? We’re all short-tempered. He can’t help it if he loses his cool sometimes.  _ I’m _ short-tempered, damn it! Now slow down before you wreck my dad’s car.”

It was painfully difficult for Stan to hold back now. He tried to focus on the road ahead of him but the agitation curdling in his blood was making it hard to concentrate. Kyle’s delusional persistence wasn’t helping.

He knew the dangers of applying the brakes on this kind of road, so instead of breaking, he just took his foot off the gas pedal and let the car gradually slow on its own, keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel and a strained focus on the road. When the car managed to slow, both Stan and Kyle exhaled little sighs of relief.

Despite Stan’s best intentions to keep civil, he couldn’t help but let a few words of spite slip out:   
“So just because he loses his cool, he’s allowed to hit you? Doesn’t seem fair to me.”

Kyle just groaned, closing his eyes in his lethargy, “It’s a fuckin’ brother thing, you wouldn’t know, all brothers do it…”

“But you’ve never hit him.”

Kyle was visibly caught off guard, “... well, no. But that’s different-”

“-How is it different? How come he’s allowed to hit you like that? That’s messed up,” Stan’s temper was threatening to break loose now.

“Stop turning this into such a big deal! You’re making my head hurt,” Kyle cried, clutching both sides of his head in between his hands, “He’s just my stupid little brother and he does stupid little brother things.”

Stan sucked his teeth, “Kyle, I don’t care how old he is. He’s bigger than you, he’s stronger than you, and he’s smarter than you. He hurts you. He drugs you. He willingly said he would let you get beaten at home. So yes, I’m going to make this a fucking big deal.”

Kyle hugged his knees in the passenger seat, resting his chin on top of his knees, “S-Shut up. He’s not smarter than me.”

Stan steadied his hold on the steering wheel, “He’s got papers to prove he’s a genius. You know he’s smarter than you.”

“He’s not smarter than me…” Kyle whimpered, hugging his knees tighter.

Something tugged at Stan’s heart when he heard the misery in Kyle’s tone as he buried deeper into himself. Guilt filled his chest when he realized the severity of what he said. Stan knew very well about Kyle's insecurity about his intelligence. Kyle was a brilliant student, he really was, but that wasn’t enough for him, and that made him insecure.

Like that midnight dance at school, when Kyle was only named salutatorian, and he left the dance to cry in the bathroom…

Damn it, Stan knew it too well, but by a fluke he managed to let those demeaning words slip out. His words were true, but they were too harsh. They must have hit Kyle right where it hurts.

He forced himself to watch the road ahead so he wouldn’t have to look at his friend’s destitute state.

“I’m sorry, Kyle,” Stan said, his voice cracking a little, “You’re, um, you’re very smart. Sure as hell smarter than me.”

“Not as smart as Ike…”

“All I meant by that was that he’s got the upper hand, that’s all,” Stan struggled to be in control of the conversation, “He’s got an advantage over you, and he’s abusing that power. That’s all.”

“...”

“Kyle, I’m sorry, I really am. You’re so brilliant, Kyle. That’s one of my favorite traits about you, it really is. I love how smart you are.”

“...”

“Kyle? Hey, are you still awake?”

“Where are we going again?”

* * *

It was late in the evening when they finally arrived at the clinic, and Kyle was looking a lot worse. He had refused to eat anything during the car ride in fear of throwing up again. And forcing himself to stay awake the whole time was really taking a toll on his mental state. He was somehow both pugnacious and terribly heartsick at the same time. He hadn’t said much, but when he did speak he reminded Stan of a country song; his speech was slurred as he went on talking about sad and angry things. And of course, he kept asking the ever elusive: “Where are we going again?”

Thankfully Stan didn’t need to answer anymore. He parked and locked up the car, and then carried Kyle inside piggyback style, Kyle barely conscious as Stan carried him.

The clinic was small, and a little bit of a fixer-upper. It was really only a small, square building divided into different “rooms” by a series of sheeted curtains, with a sliver of the front of the building saved for the “waiting room.” In its design, the clinic mirrored that of a war hospital more than it did an actual hospital.

But it resembled a war hospital in its division of patient sections only. The clinic was much more comforting. It didn’t have sterile smells, blinding overhead lights, or dismal surroundings. It honestly smelled of handmade candles, its lighting was dim but reasonably dim, and it overall carried a very homey atmosphere.

That did not go to say that the clinic was questionable in its ethics. It was a trusted facility, and it hung its certified credentials in frames on the wall of the “waiting room” to prove it.

The nurse behind the counter recognized Stan immediately. A knowing smile appeared on her face when she greeted, “Hello, Stanley! Do you have another injured football friend?”

“Hi, it’s been a while,” Stan did his best to be cordial, signing Kyle’s name on the check-in list she offered him, “Actually, I have a sick friend. I think he needs immediate medical attention.”

“Fuck you…” Kyle grumbled on his back, head drooping forward before he snapped it back up, forcing himself yet again to stay awake.

The nurse blinked, looking to Stan in embarrassment.

“Oh, he’s been like that for the past hour or so,” Stan covered, sharing her embarrassment, “He, uh, he’s diabetic. We think he has DKA right now, because he’s showing a lot of symptoms. Could you, uh, could you look at him please?”

The nurse put her hand to her heart, “The poor baby! That sounds terrible. We’re having a slow day, I can get him to a bed immediately. I can bring by a wheelchair-”

“-No, that’s not necessary, I’ll carry him,” Stan decided, he looked around the curtains, “Which bed?”

The nurse waved her hand, “Pick whatever one. Like, I said, slow day, I think only one is full. Wherever suits you. I’ll get the doctor right now.”

She made sure Stan found a good bed before dashing off to a private sector of the clinic.

The bed Stan chose was by a window, and smelled of rosey incense, closed off by blue curtain walls. He was cautious of Kyle’s back when he carefully helped him onto the bed, inspecting him closely to see how well or ill he was. When he was satisfied with the way Kyle appeared, Stan found a foldable chair nearby and sat in it to make himself level with Kyle.

“Hey,” he started, “how you feeling?”

Kyle just rubbed his temples, “Shit.”

Stan patted his knee supportively, “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re here now, you’re far away from all that bad stuff back home, and they’re going to take such good care of you. The doctor’s name is Ana María and she’s really nice and I know she’ll help you get better. She’s so good.”

Kyle didn’t acknowledge the hand on his knee. He just went on rubbing the sides of his head, “She’s an endocrinologist?”

“Um, I don’t think so? What does that mean?”

“Like a diabetes doctor,” Kyle sighed.

“Well, no,” Stan was admittedly a little ashamed, “This- This is a clinic, you know, this isn’t a hospital. She’s good at everything, though. Really. Remember when Craig broke his funny bone in the second football game of the season? I took him here, she got him all patched up. I go here for all my concussions. I promise I wouldn’t take you somewhere if I thought it would be bad for you.”

“Like the hospital?”

“Kyle, you know why we had to say no to the hospital. You agreed yourself,” Stan rubbed Kyle’s knee in comfort now, “I never got to thank you for agreeing because of, well, all that  _ stuff _ that happened after, with your brother, um… I guess, just, just thank you for seeing the truth. I’m glad that you trust me, really, thank you. And I’m so glad you’re starting to understand what’s best for you.

Kyle pulled his hands away from his face, looking Stan in the eye, “This is all jus’ temporary, though... i’n’t it? Like, I  _ am _ going home eventually…”

Stan’s heartstrings pulled, “No, no, Kyle, you’re confused. Ike said confusion was a symptom. It’s okay, you’re only confused. You don’t need to worry about any of that. I’m not going to let them hurt you again, okay?”

Catching Stan off guard, Kyle actually frowned at Stan’s reassurance. He had some sort of look in his sad green eyes that Stan couldn’t dissect, and it made his gut gnaw with worry.

But before he could ask about it, the curtain slid aside to reveal a middle aged woman dressed in navy scrubs, a face mask hanging around her neck, and latex gloves around her hands. On her face she wore a tired smile, it was obvious that she was utterly exhausted, but her pleasant attitude was still present.

“Hello Stanley, no more concussions, I hope?” she joshed, bringing in a stool with her. She sat down on the stool at the foot of the bed, clipboard and pen ready in her gloved hands.

“No ma’am, I’m okay today. It’s good to see you again,” Stan smiled. He lightly elbowed Kyle’s side, “This is my friend, Kyle. He’s really sick.”

The doctor’s jaw dropped, “This is the famous Kyle?”

Kyle was equally shocked, “Famous?”

“Stanley here talks about you all the time! Every time he comes in for a visit, he always has a new story or two about you. He paints you out to be quite the celebrity, young man,” Ana María gave a motherly smile, “You’re a lucky kid, Kyle. I never ever in my fifty two years of living have seen a friend as loyal and doting as Stanley here. You’re very lucky to be loved the way you are, make sure you don’t take him for granted.”

Stan smiled at the praise, but Kyle just looked bewildered. He wasn’t flustered or embarrassed like Stan expected him to be, he actually seemed to be startled.

The doctor noticed the look on Kyle’s face, and pulled back, aware that she had said too much. She cleared her throat before sticking her hand out in greeting, “It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Ana María.”

Kyle shook her hand tentatively, raising an eyebrow in concern, “...I‘ve never called a doctor by their first name before.”

Ana María just shrugged and finished the handshake, “I’m a little unorthodox. As you can tell, since I still allow this knucklehead to play football despite his  _ many _ injuries over the years.”

She rolled her eyes, but then recovered after seeing the look on Kyle’s face. The doctor pitied him in her gaze, carrying a sort of contrite frown.

She cleared her throat again, “Well, then. What is it that’s troubling you?”

Kyle was hesitant to reply. He didn’t need to say anything for Stan to notice just how uncomfortable he was. He looked like he was going to faint again.

So Stan took the reins for him. He explained everything that he felt was necessary to Ana María. He talked about all the symptoms Kyle had been experiencing, Kyle’s eating habits, and he also mentioned the bus accident from a few days prior. He didn’t mention abuse for many reasons, partly because he didn’t want to make Kyle even more uncomfortable, partly because he just knew this wasn’t the right time to discuss anything; after all, if Stan had yet to talk about it with Kyle personally, why would he discuss it with someone who was a stranger to Kyle?

Ana María listened closely and took notes on her clipboard. She cast the occasional side glance to Kyle, who was barely conscious and refused to make eye contact with anyone.

After Kyle’s ketones and blood sugar were tested, his diabetic ketoacidosis was immediately confirmed. They didn’t even need to test his blood acidity or his urine. The stark difference between his level of ketones and glucose levels was so astronomically high that no further tests were necessary. He needed three different intravenous treatments: fluid replacement, insulin therapy, and electrolyte replacement (so Stan’s intent with the sports drink wasn’t completely wrong, was it?).

Just as the first vein was inserted in Kyle’s wrist, he finally fainted. He had put up a good fight to stay awake; really, he was conscious for a solid three hours before he finally let himself go.

The nurses ordered Stan to give Kyle some personal space at that point. As much as he tried to protest and stay there with him, they insisted that he deserved a little personal space. So Stan just retreated to the waiting room to collect his thoughts.

It really  _ was _ for the best that he brought Kyle to a clinic instead of the hospital, Stan realized as he sat on a plastic chair in the “waiting room.” It was less of a room, and more of just a section of the building. It was a strip of empty space far away from all the curtained patient rooms, just by the front door. Plastic chairs lined the wall up to the reception desk, and a little flower pot stood in the corner. The room was empty save for one other woman a few seats down from Stan, who paid him little attention.

Stan had been waiting there for about an hour, doing nothing but reading pamphlets and pretending to be interested in his surroundings.

It was so strange the way everything was playing out. Just a few hours ago, everything had been happening so  _ fast. _ First he rescued Kyle, a second later they were at Tegridy Farms, a second after that Kyle had his first faint, a moment later Ike and Kenny stormed in, then in a split second there was the fight, and then another escape at break-neck speed. But now, Stan sat comfortably in a plastic chair in a humble clinic far outside of county lines. Here he was able to explain everything to Ana María and the nurses with total composure, but it wasn’t like he was forcing himself to be in control. He was genuinely calm. Even after all that chaos earlier this same day, Stan was in a state of absolute tranquility.

This must mean that Stan did the right thing, right?

He had to have made the right choice. Kyle was already receiving treatment for his condition and he was far away from everyone who could hurt him. Additionally, if Stan was already starting to feel calm, that  _ had _ to be a sign that everything was okay.

That did not go to say that Stan kicked his feet up and went listless. He actually devoted his time in the waiting room to something incredibly productive.

He asked the receptionist nurse for any instructional papers she might have had about type one diabetes or diabetic ketoacidosis. With a toothy smile, she gave him three different paper pamphlets, one of them about type one diabetes, one about diabetic complications, and one a menu of sorts of healthy recipes for diabetics. Stan spent the entire time in the waiting room heavily scrutinizing the little paper pamphlets. He actually memorized them word for word.

That honestly surprised him. He was never much of a studier. Even in school, he just took tests by the seat of his pants and prayed he scored at least above an average. He had never memorized anything so quickly in his life, nor had he even  _ learned _ anything so quickly. He went from knowing next to nothing to comprehending every little bit of the science behind diabetes there was to know.

Stan was honestly really proud of himself.

Another hour passed before Kyle finally came to, and Stan was alerted of his consciousness immediately. He hurried off to Kyle’s curtain room, clutching the pamphlets in his hands, as he threw the curtain aside with excitement.

“Hey, Kyle! You look so much better!” he praised, and he sincerely meant it.

Kyle was visibly cognizant, his jade green eyes fully open with an incandescent of life. Sprawled out over the padded bed with his injured foot propped up on a pillow, he was miraculously budding with vigor. He resembled  _ himself, _ his usual firebrand hothead self, and it brought a smile to Stan’s face.

What really brought tears of joy was the moment when Stan saw a pack of ice tucked inside the cast around his broken ankle, as it rested on top of a pillow.

“Dude!” Stan cheered, taking the seat by the bed, “They gave you the R.I.C.E. method!”

Kyle blinked curiously, “Rice?”

“The R.I.C.E. method,” Stan patted the outside of the cast approvingly, “Rest, ice, compress, elevate. It’s the best for injuries. I’ve been telling you since day one you had to do this method, you just have to, it’s not even really a football thing, it’s just a thing for everybody, just ‘cause, you know, it’s so good!”   
Stan was rambling now, but he couldn’t help himself. His adrenaline was coursing through his body like fireworks, exploding and exciting.   
“I knew I was right by taking you here, I just knew it!” Stan went on, enthusiasm whisking through his bloodstream, “See, they’re taking such good care of you. I knew they would. This place is so good for you, you’re going to get so much better! See, here you can heal, and grow stronger, and healthier, and you’ll be safe the whole time. Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.”

Stan’s excitement faltered when he noticed that Kyle wasn’t as enthused. If anything, he looked sad again.

Stan’s breath caught in his throat, “Hey, you okay? Are you going to faint again? You look a little pale.”

“I, um,” Kyle rubbed his nose distractedly and looked the other way, like he was nervous about something, “Well actually, Stan, um… With all these-... tube-y things pumping medicine into me, I’ve started thinking clearly for the first time in a while.”

Stan smiled, “That’s good to hear.”

“My memory’s still sort of hazy,” Kyle went on, still avoiding looking in Stan’s direction, “I only remember bits and pieces.”

“What do you remember?”

Kyle rubbed his forehead, “I, um, I have this one weird memory of us in the bathroom, and you said something about people having crushes on me.”

“Oh, yeah, we talked about that a little,” Stan said, unsure of where Kyle was going with this.

Kyle’s eyes went wide, “Seriously? I thought I must have imagined it or something. People have had crushes on me before? Why did I not know this?”

“I don’t know… I guess it just wasn’t important?”

“Yeah, right,” Kyle rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right, that’s not important. …how many people have had crushes on me before?”

Stan felt small when he replied, “Well, a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“But in elementary school, I was like, you know, that  _ list.  _ I was only undateable in school, it‘s still part of my reputation...”

“Well,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “The way Kenny worded it, he mentioned the ugly duckling story. I mean, I never thought you were ugly, or anything like that. But like, you know, as soon as you started growing up you turned into a beautiful swan… and everybody sorta… noticed, I guess.”

“Wait, Kenny knows?” Kyle sat straight up.

“Knows about what?”

“People having crushes on me!”

“I guess?”

“How did  _ he _ know, but I didn’t?”

“Because it’s not important?”

“To the only kid in the whole school who’s never dated, yeah, actually that  _ is _ important,” Kyle snapped. His defiance died down just after the words left his mouth, and he frowned somberly, “Damn. I hate that I can’t- That I’m not-... I just don’t get why I wouldn’t know that… My memory must be really bad now, huh?”

“Don’t feel bad, Kyle, it’s okay. It’s perfectly reasonable your memory’s a little sticky right now. First you had a migraine, then you fell asleep, then you fell asleep again, then you passed out, and then it was on and off and on and off like that for hours,” he smiled sadly in an effort to comfort Kyle, and said, “You probably haven’t had a clear thought in your head for forty hours or so. That’s gotta be really hard for you.”

“...it is,” Kyle admitted, “But- But like I said before, I’m, um, I’m starting to think a little more clearly. And I was just wondering-... There’s no good way to word this.”

“That’s okay, I’m listening.”

Kyle bit down on his lower lip so hard that it went white, “...I was wondering how long you planned on keeping up this joke.”

Stan wasn’t rattled at all. He was only confused, having a very difficult time understanding what it was Kyle was trying to say.

“Joke?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“This has to be a joke, right?” Kyle asked, flustered even though he still wasn’t looking in Stan’s direction, “I mean, it has to be. You’re prone to making impulsive decisions, sure, but Stan, this is all just so weird it doesn’t seem realistic. Like, I feel like I’m in a teen novel or something. What kind of kids just run away for no reason without any plan or without any idea of where they’re going?”

Now not only was Stan confused, but he was scarily worried too.

“Kyle,” he started, straining to keep his tone placid, “What do you mean ‘for no reason?’ You know why we had to go away, you were in a very bad spot. It’s not safe for you to be at home anymore.”

Kyle was incredulous, “Who says? Did I- Did I tell you that?”

“Well, no,” Stan’s heart sped up, “But Kyle, it’s written all over your face, and all the signs are there. Just the way your dad behaves, and then there’s your brother, don’t even get me started on him. Oh and Ike actually confirmed it, by the way. He said himself that he was fine with you going home and getting beaten. Which is absolutely unacceptable. I would never say that.”

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, “He meant ‘get in trouble.’ He meant to say that it’s okay if I get in trouble as long as I go to the hospital.”

“How can you say that, Kyle? You were barely conscious, you said your memory’s a blur, you can’t stand up for him if you were barely aware of what was going on,” Stan was somewhat offended that Kyle was still sticking up for Ike.

Stan shook his head, “Well, you don’t need to worry about that. You’re not going to the hospital, you’re already okay here, and so that means you won’t have to go hom-”

“-Cut the crap, Stan,” Kyle looked at him for the first time, his jade green eyes burning with passion, “That’s not for you to decide. That’s- That’s just crazy! I mean, you just took my dad’s car, just drove me to Tegridy Farms, decided for me that I’m not ever gonna see my little brother again, and now we’re out in the middle of nowhere and you still think we can go on living like this? Look at us, Stan, I mean, neither of us have showered in two days. I’m still in my pajamas. All we have is a stolen car full of food and a _ fucking  _ fidget spinner-”   
-Kyle trembled. He lowered his voice, “Are you okay, Stan?... I’ve worried about you for years, but I never would have thought-... I mean, this-...”

When Stan did not respond, Kyle sunk back against the bed defeatedly. He closed his eyes and tugged the paper bed sheet over his head to hide.

Stan lifted it off his face, peering down at him worriedly, “Kyle?”

Kyle didn’t open his eyes, “Leave me alone.”

“Kyle, I wanna talk,” Stan whined, “I think you’re confused again.”

“I don’t think I’m confused,” Kyle turned over on his side on the bed, his back facing Stan.

“You are, though,” Stan pleaded, “It’s a symptom of DKA. I read all about it in this pamphlet, it’s, uh, it’s a good pamphlet. I learned a lot about recipes we could try and ways I can take care of you if you ever get sick again. But don’t worry, Kyle, I don’t think that’s going to happen, you’re getting better already. As soon as your insulin therapy’s done, I’m positive you’ll get back to thinking normally again.”

Kyle mumbled so quietly that Stan couldn’t understand what he was saying, he only picked up on the dismally sarcastic tone:   
“Right, because you  _ really _ care about what I think, don’t you?”

“What did you say, Kyle?” Stan asked, sitting back down on the chair to be level with him again.

Kyle pulled the bed sheet back over his head, “Nothing.”

“No, it’s just, I didn’t hear you, that’s all. If you repeat, I’ll just-”

“-No,” Kyle mumbled from under the paper sheet.

Just as Stan was starting to give up, Kyle sat up in the bed. He struggled with the tubes poking out of his veins in addition to his injured back, but he managed to sit up straight.

Kyle just shrugged when he said, “Forget about it. I didn’t say anything important.”

“Oh,” Stan couldn’t help but get the feeling that Kyle was lying to him. It really hurt, but he did his best to ignore it, “Do you want to look at some of these recipes? I saw something for matzo ball soup.”

“Sure,” Kyle ran a hand through his hair, suddenly appearing very, very tired, “Yeah, whatever you want.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Smoking
> 
> Little side note! Keep in mind that this chapter takes place directly after chapter 14.  
> Or in other words, it takes place a few minutes before chapter 15, the previous chapter.
> 
> I hope this does not come across as an inconvenience.

To say that Ike was ill at ease would be a tremendous understatement. He was usually never one to lose his controlled composure, but after the events at the farmhouse, he was overwrought beyond belief. There was not one possible way in the world he could properly word his distress, he felt like he was sitting on literal pins and needles as he rode along in Kenny’s truck to the local police station.

He began to understand his brother’s need for anger management medication. This kind of overwhelming feeling taking over his entire headspace was too much to handle, he couldn't imagine having to experience stress like this regularly.

Ike was not a naturally emotional person, but right now he found himself completely overpowered by anguish. Worry fluttered in his stomach like little butterflies, while apprehension clouded his mind. He didn’t like anything about the way he felt; he had never felt anything like this before, and it was really starting to take a toll on him.

Kenny looked at Ike out of the corner of his eye, keeping his gaze focused on the road, “You okay there, little man? Stan didn’t get you too bad, did he?”

Ike rubbed the bruise on his jaw tenderly, wincing a bit. To say that it didn’t hurt was a mammoth lie. Ike had to admit that Stan had a good arm, after his years and years of intensive physical conditioning, he was already herculean at the age of seventeen.

Ike took his hand away from the bruise and forced himself to look out the window, “That son of a bitch is going to pay.”

Kenny gave a sad smile, still keeping his eyes on the road, “Did you know I’ve never heard you say cuss words until today?”

Ike forced a shrug, not necessarily keen on such a trivial conversation, “It was David Keuck who once said ‘profanity is the crutch of the inarticulate.’ I usually try to be more eloquent, but that Marsh just-... irks me in ways I cannot describe.”

“‘s alright, man, you don’t need to explain yourself, I get it,” Kenny drove on, swerving into another lane on the highway road, “We’re all freaking out today, and we’re all cursing like sailors, too. This is a pretty fucked up situation, you gotta admit.”

Ike hugged himself, staring out the window as they sped by other cars, “I can’t believe I never saw something like this coming. I always knew Marsh was unstable and impulsive, but I suppose I underestimated just how far he would take things.”

Kenny passed another car, “He’s in a rough spot. I’m not excusing his behavior or anything, I’m still pissed at him, and scared for him, and worried for him, but I’m not excusing his actions. He’s in a rough spot, but he put us in rough spots too.”

“Don’t be scared of him, McCormick,” Ike sighed, staring out the window, “It’s not like he’s going to go after you.”

“Nah, I’m not scared of him. I said I was scared _for_ him,” keeping one hand on the wheel, Kenny reached into a compartment of his car and pulled out his e-cigarette.  
He pressed its metal mouth to his own and inhaled, speaking on the exhale as smoke billowed out of his nose, “And I am. Just like you said, I had no idea how far he’d take things. I mean this is bat-shit crazy.”

“I suppose it could be worse,” Ike brooded, rubbing the bruise on his jaw again.

“Really?”

“Well, we stopped ourselves from having an all-out brawl, and we’re going to bring in law enforcement as we speak. It sounds to me like we’re doing the right thing.”

Kenny groaned, “You make it sound so simple…”

He tore his gaze away from the road, taking in Ike in the passenger seat, “Hey, are you actually okay, though? It high-key freaked me out when he punched you like that. I hope he didn’t rough you up too badly.”

Ike rolled his eyes, “Can it, McCormick, I’m fine. Just a little bruise. The only person we need worry about right now is Kyle.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kenny took another hit from the e-cigarette, returning his eyes to the highway, “For real, though, it also freaked me out when you hit Kyle. Like, I did not see that coming at all. Freaked me out.”

Ike tried not to gag at the fruity-scented smoke surrounding him. He cracked open his window to let in some fresh air before replying.

“The action I took was justified,” Ike reasoned, feeling a bit guilty but not admitting it, “My brother was behaving irrationally, I thought it would help him focus, and I was wrong. That’s all. Marsh was the one who overdramatized it.”

“Still though. He was real stressed out and weak. You actually k-o’ed him.”

“It’s not like Marsh was going to let him go,” Ike snapped back, “You saw the way he was behaving. I had to at least try to get Kyle to help himself.”

Smoke flew out of Kenny’s nostrils as he winced at Ike’s words, “I just don’t get it, man. Like the four of us, me, Kylie-B, Stan, and Cartman, we beat each other up all the time when we were little kids, for fun. None of us really had a problem with it. Like I said, it was fun.”

“Let me guess,” Ike interrupted, “As you got older, Marsh got more defensive.”

“Bingo,” Kenny sighed, “I don’t know what happened to the poor guy.”

“Who? Marsh or Kyle?”

“... Good question,” Kenny sped up and swerved around another car, “At this point I don’t know who we’re saving, Kyle or Stan.”

“Kyle, obviously,” Ike retorted.

Kenny was noticeably dazed, “But Stan-”

“-he needs help. He does. I won’t deny that,” Ike stretched in the passenger seat, “But that is none of my concern. He can get better on his own terms. Or even, when we bring the police back to the farmhouse and they take control of everything, you can take care of Stan, I can take care of Kyle, simple as that.”

A wry smile appeared on Kenny’s face as he drove, “We’re like a pair of buddy cops aren’t we?”

“No,” Ike rolled his eyes.

“Sure we are! We’re buddies now. That’s hilarious. I would have never thought we would make a good team,” Kenny took another hit from the e-cigarette, “No offense to you, of course, I just never imagined us ever spending time together before. Like, you’re one of my best friend’s little brother. That’s weird. But it works. You’re cool. Fuck that, you’re really cool.”

Ike just rolled his eyes again and huffed.

“Sooo Ike, could you let me in on some info?” Kenny proposed, sweet-scented smoke pouring out of his mouth, “You know, partner to partner, buddy cop to buddy cop.”

Ike’s temple pounded. He didn’t know how much more of Kenny’s idiocy he could take. He knew that the blonde meant well, and he was thankful for all of his help during the whole ordeal so far, but Ike was not used to this kind of constant tommyrot. It was irritating to say the least, and when added to all the pressure Ike was already under, Kenny’s behavior was starting to become a bit of an onus.

But Ike had to be cordial. Kenny was, after all, doing him a favor by speeding them down to the police station. Ike at least owed him a little courtesy.

“Of course,” Ike forced himself to say, “What is it you want to know?”

Kenny’s confidence faltered for a second. He coughed a little at all the smoke in his face, and he rolled down his window to let it escape outside. When the air was clear again, Kenny hesitantly asked, “Is the Kylie-B, like, actually unsafe at home?”  
He didn’t even give Ike a chance to answer. Kenny was already scrambling for the next thing to say, “Sorry if that’s, like, a crazy thing to ask so out of the blue. But, you know, I love the guy to death. No homo, but I love him and I worry for him a lot. Oh, and, um, if _you’re_ unsafe too would you let me know? ‘Cause you can trust me. Been there, done that. See, I was like that, but I’m in a much better place now, and um--... Fuck.”  
He took another hit from the e-cigarette, and didn’t exhale until he was completely full of smoke, “Wow, I did _not_ mean to pop off on you like that. Sorry. All I mean to say is, are y’all okay? And if not, I got you. I can probably find a way to help you out.”

Ike chuckled bitterly, catching the driver completely off guard.

“You’re a lot of work, McCormick,” Ike sighed, a smirk still present on his face, “I have to hand it to my brother for putting up with you for so many years. Just a few hours, and I’m exhausted.”

Kenny was visibly embarrassed. He kept his eyes on the road, but forcefully so.

Ike patted his arm, a kind of physical contact he had never given to anyone other than Kyle before, “You’re entertaining to have around, though. I’ll give you that. Now, as for your question about Kyle-”

“-Oh, don’t feel like you have to answer that if you don’t wanna, man. I’m sorry I just threw that at you like that, I-”

“-Nonsense. If you and I have made it this far, you deserve to know, don’t you?”

Kenny responded by letting up on the gas pedal slightly, letting his truck cruise so they could talk. Even Kenny’s posture eased, as he leaned back into the driver’s seat, and let his hands rest comfortably on the steering wheel.

“Okay, now about Kyle,” Ike went on. His posture opposed Kenny’s entirely; Ike felt himself tense up as he spoke, “Bear with me. I wouldn’t say that Kyle and I are ‘unsafe’ at home, and I legitimately mean that. Though, it is true that Gerald certainly… maltreats Kyle. In ways more than one, I’m sure. And Sheila does as well, in her own sort of way, I suppose. But we’re not ‘unsafe.’”

“No?” Kenny asked.

“No. We don’t have it bad, not really. Not as bad as you used to have it, McCormick,” Ike added that last bit not out of spite, but out of civility, making eye contact with Kenny as he did.

Kenny just ran a finger through his moppy blonde hair, visibly upset, “I mean, I had it bad, probably worse than most, sure. But, like, this kind of _subject matter,_ dude. It can’t really be ranked. Like, it’s bad if it happens at all. You get that, don’t you? That it’s bad if it happens at all?”

Ike shrugged, “Sure. That makes sense.”

Kenny was silent for a moment, straining to keep his eyes on the road. Ike was worried that Kenny was done talking, when all of a sudden, he dared to ask:

“Your parents don’t hit you, though?”

Ike wrapped his arms around himself guiltily, “No. I think they… They must treat me differently because I’m adopted or something, I don’t know.”

“...I see,” Kenny drove on.

“It’s not far-fetched. I’m telling the truth.”

“I ain’t saying you're lying. Same thing happens under my roof.”

“Really?”

“Well, you know how the Scotches treat Butters. Poor thing. They’re saints to me and Karen though. Really, like they’re so good to us that sometimes I find myself calling them ‘mama’ and ‘papa,’” Kenny frowned slightly, his blue eyes looking somewhere beyond the road, “So, um, no… no, it’s not far-fetched.”

“I…” Ike stopped speaking just as soon as he started.

But when he realized he had Kenny’s attention, Ike went on, “I don’t consider Sheila or Gerald my parents. You’ve probably noticed how I call them by their first names?”

“But I’ve heard you call Gerald ‘Dad’ several times,” Kenny pointed out.

“I do that for Kyle’s sake,” Ike confessed, “When he’s around I call them ‘mom’ and ‘dad,’ I don’t want him to feel bad for me. He’s got it bad enough already. He doesn’t need to feel sorry for me, too.”

“Damn, bro,” Kenny took a painfully long draw from the e-cigarette. His eyes went red and he erupted into coughs as he exhaled.

Ike narrowed his eyes, “Why do you smoke that thing? They’re worse than standard cigarettes, you know.”

“‘Cause I’m stupid,” Kenny managed to utter out between coughs.

He didn’t give Ike the chance to say anything more, he returned the device to a boxed compartment, and then sped up the truck with excessive force. Ike actually had to hold on to an overhead handlebar, Kenny was speeding so quickly. He then swerved the truck around recklessly, and pulled into the parking lot of the county police department.

He brought the truck to a screeching stop, leaving tire marks on the lot, and causing a high pitched sound to erupt.

Ike was petrified stiff.

Kenny laughed, “That was fun.”

Ike stared at him incredulously.

Kenny shrugged, “Hey, we got here in literally six minutes when it should have taken us longer than ten. You should be grateful, my dude. Now we’re gonna get Stan and Kyle sorted out in no time.”

Kenny opened his driver’s side door, but stopped before he got out of the truck. He looked at the bruise on Ike’s jaw, frowning.

“You know, you should also be grateful that Stan was going easy on you,” he said, tilting his head to the side.

Ike brought a hand to the bruise in shock, _“This_ was going easy on me?!”

“Hell yeah. Have you seen that boy train? He could have broken your jaw if he wanted. Plus, he was letting me hold him back when he was lunging at you, that’s something he’s never done before,” Kenny grimaced, stress creases wrinkling his tan features, “I don’t know why he would go easy on you of all people, but I know for sure Stan was holding back.”

Ike reacted to these words the same way he had after Kyle vomited a while ago. He went completely still in stun, unable to find words, incapable of even thinking clearly. His whole body tensed up and he couldn’t express any of it.

If Kenny felt bad for Ike, he didn’t show it. He patted Ike’s knee and said, “Well, c’mon, buddy cop. Let’s go get our fellow bluecoats.”

* * *

Kenny McCormick was not one to easily anger. He was prone to excitement and occasionally temperament, sure, but he was not quick to anger. In the past when he became angry, it was usually only ephemeral and he got over it. Today was different, today this anger could not easily be excused.

When he and his partner in crime, Ike, sat back in his red pickup truck, the first thing Kenny did was lock the doors, place his head down on the steering wheel, and scream. He honked the horn a few times out of unadulterated agitation, slamming the palm of his hand against the horn until the skin went red.

“Forty-eight hours, my _ass!”_ Kenny screamed, slamming his forehead back down on the steering wheel. He gave the horn a few more bashes, before collapsing over the steering wheel in riled prostration.

Ike watched him with curious eyes from the passenger seat, sitting silently and composedly as he watched Kenny pour his heart out over the steering wheel.

Kenny didn’t pay him any attention. He grabbed fistfuls of his hair, doing his best to keep from exploding from the inside out. He pulled at his blonde hair amok, shutting his eyes in frustration, and grinding his teeth.

“Those _assholes!”_ Kenny spat through his clenched teeth.

Ike didn’t say anything. He just watched, as if silently urging for Kenny to go on.

Instead of speaking, Kenny took out his e-cigarette again, fumbling to press its button and ignite its fumes. He took a long inhale, feeling the sting of fragrant smoke dance along his tongue and fill the back of his throat. When he finally exhaled, he let go of his hair and leaned back against the car seat.

He felt his body unclench as the nicotine slowly ebbed away his anger. His body was lax, but his mind was still spinning.

He chuckled angrily, casting a tight smirk in Ike’s direction, “Welp! That’s our government for you. We walk on in there, being completely nice and respectful to our men in blue, we tell them all about how Stan and Kyle pretty much ran away, that there was physical assault, that it could technically be kidnapping, that we have no idea if they’re still at the farmhouse or not, _and_ that we have every reason to believe that medical attention is being withheld… And what do they tell us?”

Kenny put a finger along his upper lip, mimicking a mustache, as he mocked in a deep voice, “You have to wait at least _forty-eight_ hours to submit a missing persons report.”

Kenny went back to using his own voice, playing a pretend conversation with himself, “But sir, they’re minors. They’re both seventeen.”

Then he responded with the mustached officer impersonation, “That’s just on the cusp of adulthood. At that age, they’re to be treated as adults.”

Kenny’s voice pleaded back, “But it’s already been about forty hours! Time is of the essence, our friend is really sick!”

The ‘officer’ huffed, “I don’t make the law, kid, I just follow it!”

Kenny groaned and slammed his head back down on the steering wheel, grumbling, “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”

Kenny then released a long, _long_ sigh and sat back up. His arms felt like lead when he raised them back to the steering wheel. With anger sinking deeply in his chest, he did his best to smile at Ike in spite of it, and say, “Sorry I went all berserk on you just now. I’m just- I’m pretty pissed.”

Ike shook his head, “Don’t apologize. Emotions are justified.”

Kenny rolled his eyes and huffed, taking another inhale from his e-cigarette, “Says the one who is completely calm right now.”

“I’m not calm,” Ike replied nonchalantly, his hands folded in his lap, “I’m very upset, actually. I had no idea that the police department functioned so poorly.”

“I think me and you got different definitions of what ‘upset’ means,” Kenny said, blowing fruity-scented smoke out of his mouth.

“I’m not skilled at… emoting,” Ike responded, “I just sort of… tense up. I have a difficult time expressing.”

“I hear you,” Kenny tipped an imaginary hat on his head in Ike’s direction, “When I was littler, that parka I wore everyday made it hard for people to understand me. Both what I said and what my facial expressions said. It sucked. So I just looked for the people who understood me, and I made lifelong friends out of ‘em. For me, that was Stan and Kyle.”

There was a beat of silence, but it didn’t feel tense. It felt sweet, sincere.

When Ike didn’t say anything, Kenny went on, “So you just gotta look for the listeners. Look for the people who understand you, ‘cause there’s gotta be someone out there who hears you, right?”

“Are you saying that you understand me, McCormick?” Ike asked, staring, in a tone that made it sound more like a sentence than a question.

“Not really,” Kenny laughed lightly and put the e-cigarette back in the compartment, “A little bit. I understand where you’re coming from. I get why you sometimes act the way you do.”  
Kenny stroked his chin, staring onward as he continued, “To be honest, I think I’m starting to understand you more than I understand Stan…”

“I’ve never understood him,” Ike confessed, “And I thought I understood everything. Marsh is the one thing in existence I can’t figure out.”

“Amen to that,” Kenny smiled. 

His heart actually swelled with genuine joy for the first time that day. He was connecting with someone on a personal level, even amid all the stress and intensity of the circumstance. He felt his fake smile fade away and a real one come to replace it. Of all people he could have had a moment with today, he was somehow miraculously sharing one with the elitist, mysterious Ike Broflovski.

“So,” Kenny started the truck, “What now?”

Ike stared, “You’re asking me?”

“Sure,” Kenny shrugged. He put the truck into reverse and backed it out of the police department parking lot, “You seem like the guy to be the man with the plan. I trust ya.”

Ike was silent for a moment. He sat with his head low in deep contemplation as Kenny drove, and then picked his head up to say, “I want to call Kyle.”

“A'ight, bet.”

“I’m sure they’ve left Tegridy Farms already.”

“They have.”

Ike took out a phone from his pocket. Just as he was pulling up Kyle’s contact info, Kenny slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Dude! Kyle doesn’t have his phone!” Kenny exclaimed.

Ike was bewildered, “He doesn’t?”

“No!”

“You’re telling me you didn’t think to bring it to him when we dropped off all that supplies?” Ike charged, his mouth hanging open.

Kenny struggled to drive straight as he shouted back, “I did, though! But Stan told me-...”

He stopped, coming to a sudden realization.

“-Stan specifically told me not to bring Kyle’s phone. As one of his conditions.”

Ike glared, his eyes deadly, “That’s messed up.”

“...I brought Stan’s phone, though.”

“I guess we’re calling Marsh.”

“I guess we are,” Kenny sighed, “I got a bad feeling about this.”

“I hope Kyle’s okay,” Ike said in a small voice, his finger weakly hovering over the call icon on the phone screen.

Kenny felt his heartstrings pull. Ike was actually opening up for once, but Kenny didn’t know how to comfort him. He was just as scared, if not even more scared than Ike was.

Kenny never would have imagined he would fear for perhaps the very life of one of his best friends. He knew Stan cared about Kyle with every inch of his being, but he knew that Stan wasn’t wise, too. He was prone to not thinking things through, and he had practically no knowledge of how to treat Kyle’s illness. He was aware that Stan would never intentionally put Kyle in harm's way, but ever since the bus accident, Stan has done nothing _but_ that.

And all Ike and Kenny could do was try to shed some light from a distance.

Kenny just drove on, offering words of little comfort, “I hope so, too. He’s a fiery punk, though. He’ll fight through this.”

“He won’t fight Marsh, though,” Ike said, resentment evident in his tone, “Kyle could stand up to anything and anyone but not him. I just don’t-... Like I said, I don’t understand him.”

“...call him,” Kenny decided. He kept his eyes on the road, but his head steady.

Ike nodded, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have stalled.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Do you want to speak with him?” Ike asked, “He’s much more likely to comply if it’s with you than me.”

Kenny audibly sighed, feeling sticky with guilt all over, “Dude, I want to. Believe me. But I can’t be on the phone and drive. I really can’t.”

Ike sighed too, “It’s fine. I get it.”

“It’s not even a moral or ethical thing, man,” Kenny whined, “It’s just, like, I turn into such a dangerous driver. Like, you have no idea. If I could I would, believe me, but I can’t. And like, we’re on the highway, so I can’t even pull over. I’m really sorry, man.”

“No, no, it’s fine, really,” Ike said, stiffening a little, “I’ll do it. It’s no big deal.”

He took a deep breath.

“Okay, here we go.”

With steady hands, Ike pressed the call button on the screen. He put the call on speaker and held the phone in between himself and Kenny so they could both hear it ring.

It rang twice before there was that familiar _click_ of someone picking up from the other line. The click was followed by rustling noises, several of them, before a voice emerged on top of the background.

_“Hello? Why are you calling me, Ike?”_

Relief flooded Kenny’s body when Stan’s voice registered through the phone. He had worried that Stan wouldn’t answer at all. Just the fact that Stan was able to read Ike’s contact name and still have the common sense to answer proved that he wasn’t far gone, like Kenny had admittedly feared.

Ike answered Stan’s question with unadulterated directness, “Don’t hang up.”

Stan could be heard groaning from the other side of the phone, _“Now I_ want _to hang up.”_

“Listen, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine,” Ike continued, “McCormick is here, and if you would rather consult with him instead of me, that’s fine. We want to-”

_“-I’m in the car right now. I’m driving. I can’t talk.”_

“We just want to talk to Kyle. He’s in the car with you, right? Just let us talk to him.”

_“No. He’s not well enough to talk right now. You should hang up.”_

Kenny swallowed, uneasiness writhing in the back of his throat. Something about how simple and negligible this conversation was going made him uncomfortable. It just didn’t seem right for Stan to speak so trivially of such a dangerous situation.

He noticed Ike tense up a bit, indicating that he was equally worried.

Ike gave Kenny a look of reassurance and then asked the phone, “Is he still conscious?”

_“I do not need to disclose that information with you.”_

Ike grimaced, “Marsh, this is serious. Is he still conscious?”

_“None of your business!”_

There were more rustling noises following Stan’s shout. The phone then picked up on another voice, a voice distorted by the barrier of the phone call, but one that still resonated above the background sounds of the car ride. It was impossible to hear what the speaker was saying, but at its sound, Kenny immediately recognized who was speaking.

Kenny mouthed the name “Kyle” to Ike excitedly. The dark-haired boy just nodded.

“I heard him say something,” Ike confronted the phone, “That means he’s conscious, yes?”

Stan spoke, but he wasn’t replying to Ike. He was clearly speaking to Kyle on the other line, and the phone was just accidentally picking it up.

 _“Kyle, I already told you where we’re going. Twice. See if you can-... here-”_ there were more rustling sounds, _“-look at the fidget spinner. No, no, Kyle, stay awake, no-... Okay, okay, good. Here, look at the fidget spinner. Isn’t it pretty? It’s pretty, right? Look at it.”_

The phone speaker stirred some more, producing static noises and picking up on background soughs. It took a few more seconds of rustling for Stan to finally return to the conversation.

 _“Yes, he’s still conscious,”_ Stan confirmed, spite detectable in his tone.

“Let us talk to him,” Ike asserted, still maintaining a sense of authority.

_“No.”_

“Marsh-”

_“-No, I won’t let you do anything to him.”_

Ike bit his lower lip, an angry scowl resting on his face, “Talk to McCormick, then. I’ll even take it off speaker so I don’t hear anything. Just you and McCo- Just you and _Kenny,_ is that reasonable?”

Stan sighed on the other line, _“Even if I_ wanted _to let you talk to him, I couldn’t. Kyle really, really isn’t well enough to talk. He’s conscious, but he’s, like, super pale and he’s really confused. He just asked me where we’re going for, like, the millionth time now. He-...”_  
There were more rustling noises.  
 _“He’s not even seeing that I’m in the car next to him. He, like, he has this little fidget spinner that Kenny gave him, and that’s the only thing he’s aware of. He literally does not acknowledge that I’m calling you guys right now. So, no. Talking to him is out of the question.”_

Kenny bit his lower lip at Stan’s words. He didn’t know much about Kyle’s state of being medically, he had very poor understanding of biology in general, so diseases and diabetic complications were entirely foreign to him. 

But even if Kenny could understand Kyle’s medical state, he would still be just as worried. The mere image Stan painted of Kyle barely functioning, struggling to stay awake, and losing memory of everything was terrifying. It was scary to realize that this was the reality of one of his best friends, and that he was so far away that he could do nothing to help him.

Ike patted Kenny’s shoulder again, but maintained his professionalism over the phone, “So you understand, then, that Kyle needs medical attention immediately.”

_“Of course.”_

“You’re taking him to the hospital?”

_“No!”_

“But Marsh,” Ike visibly strained to hold himself together, “Diabetic ketoacidosis is not something that you or I could treat personally. He needs to be taken to a respected medical facility.”

_“I know!”_

“So?” Ike assailed.

 _“So, what?!”_ Stan fired back, _“I know! I’ve got everything under control. We’ll be at a place that’ll help him in just a few minutes.”_

“How soon is ‘a few minutes?’”

_“I don’t know, what’s it matter? Like twenty? Thirty? Maybe forty?”_

Ike’s jaw dropped, “Hold on a second. If you started driving just after we left, you must have been driving for half an hour, at least. And you mean to add that to another forty minutes?”

Ike and Kenny shared a look now, before Ike pressed on, “Just how far do you intend on taking him? Are you leaving the state?!”

 _“I hadn’t thought about that, but that’s actually not a bad idea,”_ Stan responded simply.

“Stan!” Kenny cried out now, fighting with every cell of his body to stay focused on the road ahead of him. He labored over keeping the wheel firm in his hands while he was practically seething on the inside.

_“Kenny? Hi, Kenny. Look, I hope you’re not still upset about-”_

“-Doesn’t matter, Stan,” Kenny bristled, “I, I just, I really need you to tell me where you’re going, please.”

Ike moved the phone closer to Kenny, who was managing to drive as steadily as he could.

_“I can’t, Ken, please tell me you know that.”_

“Why can’t you?” Kenny asked, feeling his heart ache inside his chest, “We’re only going to help you. I told you I wasn’t going to let you get away with this, and I meant it, dude.”

_“I just, I can’t let you know.”_

“But Stan, it was part of our deal that you, me, Ike, and Kyle would all stay together for a few days. You agreed to that, Stan.”

_“That was before I was aware that Ike was a physically abusive monster.”_

Ike glared daggers but didn’t speak.

Kenny felt his stomach churn, “Stan, I don’t like this…”

_“I promise you don’t have to worry about where we’re going. Kyle is going to get better- Oh, wait… Hold on…”_

The phone picked up several sounds of commotion. Mumbles of conversation between two parties droned out, the exact words intangible. The talking and background noise carried out for a few minutes. Then there were a few sounds of static before Stan’s voice returned.

_“Sorry about that, I’m back. Anyway, I was saying-”_

“-No, wait,” Ike interrupted now, “That was Kyle, right? What was he saying?”

_“Doesn’t matter. Back to what I was-”_

-Kenny cut in now, voice tight, “No. It matters. It does matter. What was Kyle saying?”

Stan sighed, _“Just stupid stuff that doesn’t make any sense. He’s, like, muttering about getting marked absent for missing school days or something. I can’t really understand. He’s really upset, but he’s not making any sense, so I can’t help him.”_

Kenny’s heart sunk, “Oh.”

 _“He’s awake, though,”_ Stan went on, _“That’s what matters. He is going to be just fine. I’m taking him to a place that’ll help him get better. So you don’t have to contact me anymore.”_

Ike gave Kenny a look, a concerned expression that spoke a thousand words for the both of them.

“Stan,” Kenny started, his words more breath than voice, “That- That’s not fair, man. Hold on, can we- Is there a time we can talk about this?”

_“Sure. If closure is what you need, then fine.”_

The tone in Stan’s voice was so calm and collected that it sent a chill down Kenny’s spine. His composure was so out of place, so inappropriate, it was _bloodcurdling._

Kenny shuddered, he had never once imagined he would use the word ‘bloodcurdling’ to describe one of his best friends.

 _“Look,”_ Stan went on, totally normally, _“We have a few more minutes--okay, maybe like an hour- before we reach the place, so I’m gonna try to talk to Kyle for a bit, see if I can keep him engaged in a conversation, help him focus. So I’m gonna hang up now. I’ll call you later, though.”_

“S-Sure thing, bud. As long as you call us later...”

_“Want me to call Ike’s number or Kenny’s?”_

“Either one is f-fine.”

_“Hey Kyle? … You feeling well enough to talk?”_

The phone call ended with a few beeps, indicating that Stan had hung up.

The truck was filled with an unresting silence, an uneasy void-like feeling filling the space. The only sounds came from the rustic engine and the rushing of the highway road.

It was so quiet that Kenny actually jumped in his seat when Ike spoke up:

“I think he’s lying.”

“What?” Kenny swerved between the lanes unsteadily in his surprise, and scrambled to get back to driving safely.

When he straightened out, Kenny huffed and continued, “Stan? You think Stan is lying? About what?”

“I’m not sure what exactly,” Ike mumbled, completely stiff in the passenger’s seat, “But he’s lying about something. Maybe he’s-...”

“What?”

Ike’s entire body tensed up now, “I was only wondering about the chance that he was lying about Kyle’s current state. Like maybe he’s- Maybe he’s doing a lot worse than what Stan says.”

“That… would suck.”

“He’s probably lying about what Kyle was saying in the car, too,” Ike droned on, somehow managing to make Kenny feel even worse, “I’m sure Kyle’s a little delusional right now, but if he’s conscious, wouldn’t you think he would try to stand up for himself?”

“You said it yourself, man,” Kenny sighed, “Kyle doesn’t stand up for himself around Stan. He lets himself be played with like a toy or something.”

“So you’ve noticed it, too,” Ike leaned forward in his seat to look at Kenny, “This isn’t a one-time thing. Marsh and my brother have been behaving this way for a while now.”

“I mean, yeah, I sorta noticed it gradually build as time went on,” Kenny winced, “To be honest, don’t laugh at me, but I thought it was because they were going gay for each other or something.”

Ike pinched the bridge of his nose, “McCormick…”

“Let me finish! That was just my assumption, ‘cause they started hanging out without me or Cartman, and I wasn’t really allowed to hang out with the Kylie-B by himself anymore. So I figured it might’ve been ‘cause they were getting close or something! It was a reasonable guess, wasn’t it? It was just my innocent lil’ assumption. I never thought it was actually something serious enough to lead to this.”

“In truth, there was a time where I predicted the same thing…”

“See? I’m not bonkers. It made sense at the time. Now it’s just-... I don’t know.”

“McCormick?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you call my brother ‘the Kylie-B?’”

Kenny actually laughed. It was a weird time to have a laugh, but it felt right as the memory hit him.

“Oh, man!” Kenny laughed, running a hand through his hair, “This was, like, an event that happened when you were still a toddler. Man, it was awesome. I can’t believe he never told you! Kyle high-key went through this whole Jersey phase. He had the name ‘Kylie-B’ on his shirt, gold chains, slicked hair, and everything. I thought it was so cute, I really did, so I started calling him that even after he phased out. He thought it was annoying at first, but he grew to like it.”

Ike snorted.

“What? You don’t think it’s cute?”

“No, it’s not ‘cute.’ It sounds a little demeaning to me.”

“Nah, man, it’s adorable,” Kenny smiled.

He merged the truck into the next lane. His smile faltered when another memory struck him, “Stan sort of reacted the same way, honestly. It’s been a few years now, but he still doesn’t like it.”

Ike pushed his tongue to the side of his mouth in contemplation, “He’s an interesting character.”

“Bet. He sure is.”

“...”

“‘member when I said that I wasn’t scared of him, but I was scared for him? I think… I think now it’s a little bit of both.”

“Me too.”

“...”

“...”

“What now?”

“...I have no idea.”


	17. Chapter 17

The evening faded to dusk, and dusk faded to night. Stan was completely oblivious to the passage of time. This was despite the fact Kyle’s clinic bed was right next to a window, where if Stan chose to, he could look out and clearly see the dark sky. But Stan was not even remotely interested in the window, so he didn’t notice. He spent these several hours reading aloud from the diabetic recipe pamphlet, taking note of which ones seemed to ignite any sort of interest in Kyle.

The redhead himself didn’t say a word. He just faded in and out of consciousness, even though he was hooked up to his several intravenous medicines that were supposed to make him feel better. Stan just put it down to Kyle having an utterly exhausting day. And really, they both had exhausting days. Stan didn’t blame him for wanting to sleep.

Stan should sleep himself, but by a fluke he found that he was wide awake. He had not eaten all day. He had not showered in two days. He had spent the majority of the day driving on excruciatingly tiring country roads. But in this little clinic, he found himself bubbling with vitality.

Even as Kyle dozed, Stan still read aloud. It was admittedly a little therapeutic, as odd as that may seem. It was mystically calming to just sit in the company of his super best friend and simply read aloud. He wasn’t reading from a romantic novella or anything sweet like that, only from a medical paper pamphlet, but it carried the same soothing effect to just sit, read, and know that he was keeping Kyle safe. It was transformative, encumbering, and altogether heartwarming.

Stan was in absolute zen. His friend was safe. There was nobody here to harm either of them, there was nobody here to disturb their peace.

That was until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

It was one of the nurses from the night shift, one Stan had never met before. The nurse was male; he was a bit older than most of the staff and he wore a pair of glasses perched atop of his very bird-like nose.

“Hey, what’s up?” Stan asked. He was the slightest bit irritated that his reading was interrupted, but he did his best to be polite.

“I’m sorry for intruding, but is this yours?” The nurse held in his hand Stan’s cell-phone.

“Oh,” Stan’s breath hitched with surprise, “Oh, yeah, it is! Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, it’s been sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting room for hours now. I was worried its owner already left, but thankfully you’re still here.”

“Hours?” Stan repeated, his eyebrow raising. When he took his phone back, the screen lit up with bright, bold digits reading “10:38 P.M.”

Stan’s jaw dropped, “It’s ten at night?!”

The nurse didn’t even need to answer. Stan jumped to the window at Kyle’s bedside, aghast to see that the sky was as black as tar, and it was dotted spectacularly in stars. The snow beneath the sky almost appeared to be blue in the darkness of the night, not a single nocturnal animal anywhere in sight.

“No way,” Stan breathed, “Seriously?”

The nurse just stood there awkwardly, fidgeting with the plastic gloves around his hands.

Stan turned to his phone now, inwardly groaning as he read the massive number of messages he had missed. There were a few texts from his dad asking about his whereabouts, as well as several texts and missed calls from both Kenny and Ike.

All at once Stan’s perfect zen was obstructed. The vitality bubbling inside of him, the serenity he had felt at his friend’s bedside, and the unadulterated feeling of safety were all stymied in that mere second.

He started to remember just how drastic his circumstance was. He had been sitting here idly, reading at Kyle’s bedside with carefree nature, all the while both he and Kyle were still in danger. How stupid could he be to just forget about everything that happened so quickly?

Stan scrambled to recollect everything that he was supposed to focus on. Kyle’s dad was abusive, Kyle’s brother was abusive, the farmhouse was probably surrounded by police, Kenny and Ike were waiting to call him, he had a stolen car full of food, Kyle’s things, and a fidget spinner, and on top of all of that, Kyle was still attached to tubes in a free-of-charge clinic out in the middle of nowhere, Colorado.

Stan felt a wave of anxiety flood over his head. In his moment of zen, he had forgotten how overwhelming all of this was. Now as he was taking it in, he felt like he was drowning. He was standing upright on the unswept hardwood floor of the clinic, and he was drowning in disquietude. The air in his lungs left him. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning. He was-

“-Oh, and one more thing, young man,” the nurse continued, prying Stan from his thoughts, “Ana María is clocking out shortly. She asks that you go home as well.”

Another wave swept over his head, the force knocking him backward.

“No, no, home is not- Home I can’t-” Stan stammered, trying to make sense of what was going on, “No, no I can’t go home. Can you tell her that?”

The nurse blanched. It was obvious he didn’t appreciate being put on the spot like that, he seemed to be the nervous, finicky type. He actually looked like the kind of nerd Stan and his football team could easily pick on.

“I- I don’t think she would appreciate that coming from me,” the nurse admitted, pulling at one of his gloves, “You ought to tell Ana María herself.”

“Tell Ana María what?”

The blue curtain pulled aside to reveal the woman in question, now dressed in everyday home attire, with incredibly baggy eyes. She wore a large purse at her hip, the kind that only a mother would wear to hide both her own belongings and little trinkets of her children’s. Ana María was notably even more exhausted than when Stan last saw her; this time, she didn’t even wear a smile to try to hide it.

The nurse fled the scene just as Ana María entered, the curtain flapping shut behind him.

Ana María gave Stan a questionable look, “Are you alright? You look anxious.”

“I- I am. Anxious. I am anxious,” Stan stuttered. He cast a longful side glance to Kyle, who was snoring softly on the bed.

Ana María’s eyes narrowed, “Time to go home, Stanley.”

“You mean to tell me that you want me to go home, and leave Kyle all by himself here?”

The doctor sucked air in her teeth, “Well, we prefer to not keep patients overnight. We don’t provide room and board. This isn’t a hospital, you know. But given your friend’s condition, we don’t have much of a choice.”

“Why?” Stan swallowed, a lump rising in his throat, “I thought he was getting better. And- And I read the pamphlets. Usually treatment lasts only a few hours, right? It’s been more than a few hours...”

“He is getting better, Stanley, he has demonstrated a lot of improvement so far. Your friend is a fighter, I’ll give him that.”

Stan smiled at her compliment.

Ana María went on, “But treatment varies person to person. It does usually last a few hours, but in some cases it can take up to a few days. It would be safer to keep Kyle on insulin therapy and replacements until his glucose levels are in a safe range. That and-”

“-and what?”

“You mentioned he sustained unexamined back injuries from the bus accident,” the doctor stated in a tone that only someone in that profession could muster; sterile, “You specifically asked that I check those out. I haven’t done that yet; I need him to be awake for it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“But you don’t need to worry, Stanley. My staff here are very professional. They’ll look after him for the night, and he’ll be all rested up and excited to see you when you come back tomorrow.”

“I… can’t.”

“You can’t come back tomorrow?”

Stan sunk his head low, “I can’t leave.”

Ana María’s sternness softened. She once again took on that motherly persona that Stan had grown used to. She rested a hand on Stan’s shoulder in comfort, and whispered, “Stanley, a boy ought to go home when it’s dark outside. You can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” Stan whined, sounding so childish that it upset him, “How come he has to stay here all alone and I have to leave him?”

“But he won’t be alone. My staff will tend to his every need. They’ll help him to the bathroom, to a meal, even to a phone if he wants one. He will be just fine.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand,” Stan shook his head. He didn’t even register Ana María’s hand on him; the weight on his shoulders was already too heavy.

The doctor sighed, _“I_ have to go home, too, you know. I have three kids. I work eighteen hour days. I would like to go home. I can’t leave unless all the guests are gone.”

“Ana…” Stan whimpered. He hated how vulnerable he was making himself out to be. He was behaving like a child would, and that fact alone angered him. He was somehow both gutless and irate at the same time, the potpourri of emotions steaming and seething inside of him.

“I want to go home, Stanley. Come on, I’ll walk you out to the parking lot. How does that sound?” Ana María took Stan by the hand and started to lead him away. Stan felt himself go numb. He let himself be tugged along the clinic floor to the front door, the clash of helplessness and provocation inside of him weighing him down. It wasn’t until he was already standing in the blistering cold outside, being tugged across the sidewalk, that he finally snapped.

“No… No. No, Ana. Ana, wait!” Stan exclaimed, pulling himself from her grasp with such force that she stumbled backwards. Her purse went flying in the air, its many contents raining down along the sidewalk and snowy bushes haphazardly. Stan managed to catch Ana María by the shoulders before the poor woman fell herself, and she dangled there in his hold mere inches away from having collided with the ground.

She stared up at him dubiously, bitter frustration evident in her dark eyes.

“Stanley Marsh,” she warned, tone as cold as the frigid air around them.

Stan swallowed and helped her up to her feet. She dusted herself off while Stan scrambled for the right thing to say.

“Ana, Ana, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. But I can’t go home. You don’t understand. That’s- That’s out of the question for me right now,” he said, silently loathing how pitiful he sounded. It was strange; even after he snapped, he couldn’t help but feel both like a mouse and a lion at the same time.

“What’s the matter with you, boy? Why not? Have you run away or something?” the doctor exclaimed, furiously wiping the snow from her clothes. Her shirt and pants were now wet and littered with dirt, and her wiping only seemed to make it worse.

Stan went along the sidewalk and bushes, collecting all of the items that had fallen from her purse, all the while he was doing his best to speak clearly, “Run away? No, no. No, that’s- That’s not exactly what happened, not really. But it’s not like I forced him, or anything like that. Despite what his brother thinks. I- no. No, he agreed to come. I just can’t-”

He had gathered in his hands all the toiletries and makeup items when Ana María finally stopped him.

She grabbed his face with both of her hands and held him still, staring him dead in the eye with scrutiny.

“Stanley, are you feeling alright? You seem-...” she pursed her lips, “You don’t seem to be acting like yourself.”

Stan looked away from her eyes. He forced himself to focus on the little pebbles on the sidewalk, and how they twinkled in the moonlight.

“Have you been told that before?” Ana María went on, not letting go of his face, “That you’re not acting like yourself?”

Stan felt like he was selling a part of his soul when he admitted, “Yes. More than once.”

The woman let go of his face now. She peered at him with that special kind of motherly concern that only she could have. She glanced at her watch, “I might have a little time to check you for another concussion, if you’d like.”

“No,” Stan moaned, shaking his head.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he started to miss his mom. It was the most childish thing in the entire world he could admit to, but it was true. He started to miss his mom.

“Stanley,” Ana María urged with a sigh that revealed her age, “I’m _worried_ about you.”

“Everyone is.”

It wasn’t until the words left his mouth that Stan realized that this exact conversation played out between himself and Kyle only two days ago, when they had been sitting at the dining table in the Broflovski house, when Kyle pushed away his breakfast after only a few bites.

Ana María reacted the same way that Stan had. Her posture drooped. She pulled back into herself, weariness evident in her features.

“What is it?” she asked, “Do you need something? Do you need money or food or something?”

“No,” Stan mumbled, though he did need both of those things.

“Stanley, I have to go home,” the doctor stated in a tone that made her sound unsure, “I have kids at home. I have to go.”

Those words only made Stan miss his mom more.

“Okay,” he said. Sheepishly, he presented the various items in his arms, “You dropped these.”

She stifled a sigh and collected the trinkets, filing them into her purse uncaringly. She fished through them until she found her car keys. Pointing them at Stan, she warned, “You really should get home.”

“Okay,” he said, uneasiness clawing at his insides, “Just- Just give me a minute.”

“Of course you’re allowed to say goodbye to Kyle before you go. That’s fine. As long as you promise to leave.”

“...I’ll leave.”

“You will?”

“I’ll leave.”

“And you don’t need a ride home? Or money or anything?”

“No.”

“...Good boy,” Ana María said. She wavered in her place a little, clearly on the fence about this whole conversation. But whatever uncertainty she had, she managed to bottle it up inside of her and muster a wave good-bye. She almost looked a little guilty when she left, casting Stan one last glance over her shoulder before she filed into her car.

Stan watched her drive off until she was completely out of sight, masked by the darkness of the night.

He couldn’t help but wonder to himself if Kyle felt like this sometimes. He wondered if Kyle ever felt like he was drowning in this abiding uneasiness, this kind of restless fear of going home.

The fear Stan had was hypocritical. He didn’t need to be afraid of going home. His dad was not a threat to him, and he didn’t have any brothers who could harm him like Kyle did. And yet, somehow, it was Stan standing out here the dead of night, paralyzed in fear of having to go home.

He realized it was less that he was afraid of where he was going, but more so he was afraid of what he would leave behind. He couldn’t just leave Kyle here. The idea was morally wrong, borderline inhumane.

What would happen if Kyle woke up in the middle of the night at the height of his confusion, and had no idea where he was or how he got there? It was a spine-chilling thought to just imagine his friend locked up in a place he didn’t know, surrounded by people he didn’t trust, and unable to leave because he was strapped down to a bed with tubes stuck in his wrist and a cast around his ankle.

Stan already knew from the several consecutive instances of turmoil within the last four days that Kyle was already shaken to the bone. What he didn’t know was how much more horror Kyle could take. One could only take so much trauma before breaking down. Kyle was already feeble, how much more could he withstand?

Out of the corner of his eye, Stan could spot something glimmering from underneath the snow-laden bushes.

Confused but admittedly a little intrigued, Stan looked around him to see if there was anyone else nearby who might see the little glimmers too. When he discovered that he was all alone in the darkness, Stan approached the bush with morbid curiosity.

His breath, visible in the frigid night, caught in his throat when he saw Ana María’s wallet resting under the bush, its reflective surface shining in the moonlight. Stan must not have seen it when he was collecting everything that fell from her purse. Uneasily, he scanned the parking lot and the road, hoping to see her car speeding back to reclaim her possession. But Stan was still all alone in the dark of the night.

With tentative hands, he bent down to pick up the wallet. He held it up in the moonlight, admiring it as it twinkled and glimmered. It felt surprisingly heavy in his hands for such a little wallet. He could only imagine what was inside, considering a doctor’s salary.

As he stood there in the cold, his teeth started to chatter, and he found himself thinking of his mom again.

See, it was his mom who first introduced him to the clinic. She and Ana María had been friends in high school, but they lost contact after they got married and started families of their own. It wasn’t until Stan got his first concussion at the age of eleven that Sharon Marsh was finally given the opportunity to reconnect with her after so many years.

She drove him out to the clinic with a special kind of excitement that Stan had never seen her possess before. In her neutral state, Sharon Marsh was an unhappy woman. But that day when she took him to the clinic, Stan witnessed a magical liveliness kindle inside of her, the special kind of joy that she only displayed on her birthday or on Mother’s Day. Just something about being in that homey little place and comforted in the arms of her friend brought Sharon immediate elation.

After that day, Ana María became a sort of second mother to him. He visited her regularly enough, and they took an instant liking to each other. He made friends of her kids and of the staff at the clinic, much to Sharon’s satisfaction.

To this day, that was one of Stan’s favorite memories, seeing his mother truly happy for the first time.

Stan shivered, a chill running down his spine.

The clinic itself didn’t make his mom happy, he realized. It was just a pigeonhole out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but snow and trees in every direction.

It was reconnecting with her friend that made Sharon happy. It was being in the company of someone she loved. It was feeling safe in the embrace of a good intimate.

Stan thought back to his super best friend on the bed, boxed in by large curtains, constricted by his injuries and illness, and worst of all, all alone in a place he didn’t recognize.

The waves of anxiety that Stan was drowning in now froze around him. His veins ran cold with ice. He could see his breath in the cold air as well as the blue tips of his fingers. Both inside and outside his body, he was frozen solid in his anxious inclemency.

Stan couldn’t leave Kyle here tonight.

He told Ana María he would leave. But he could not leave Kyle here tonight.

His thoughts were stripped away from him at the sound of tires screeching to a stop. He snapped his head up to see a minivan halt in the parking lot, a young adult man jumping out of the driver’s seat like lightning.

The man ran with godlike speed to the passenger side of the minivan, where he helped a woman exit, and rushed to take her into the clinic. The woman was crying, and struggling to stay upright, the man was carrying her more than he was walking with her, as she held her arms around her protruding abdomen in pain.

It didn’t take long for Stan to realize that the poor woman was in labor.

He tucked Ana María’s wallet into his pocket, and then immediately moved to hold open the door for the young couple. When they made it inside, Stan was quick to alert the nighttime staff.

“Thank you, thank you,” the husband rushed, sweating almost as much as his wife was, “I’m so sorry, I just- we- We wanted the hospital, but we don’t have insurance…”

The same nurse with the birdlike nose assisted the woman onto a bed, trying to calm the husband haphazardly, “No, no it’s fine, I understand.. Could you just, I don’t know, could you just-”

Stan moved back to Kyle’s bed to give them all some space. He didn’t know much about childbirth outside of what he was taught in school, but he could _safely_ assume that they did not need his presence as a distraction. He could also _very safely_ assume that this was not something he wanted to stick around to see.

It seemed to be quite the emergency, the entire night-time staff were there working to assist the young couple.

The entire night-time staff…

Stan slipped behind the curtains to Kyle’s bedside. He saw that no one was in the curtained room besides Kyle, who was sleeping fitfully on the bed.

Stan looked around haphazardly and grabbed an insulin prick from the table. He had never actually used one of these before, but he learned all about them from the pamphlet. All he needed to do was hold Kyle’s finger like so, then turn this part here, then click, and…

Stan was flooded with relief when he read that Kyle’s glucose levels were at a healthy level of 92. The only reason why it was a little low was because he had gone so long without eating. Even though it was low, it was still safe in the healthy range for Kyle’s age; all of this Stan only knew because of the pamphlets.

So essentially, Kyle was perfectly recovered. He was ready to go; besides the fact he was sleeping soundly.

Stan poked his head through the curtains to scope out the environment of the clinic. Nothing had changed. Every single staff member was totally absorbed in working with the laboring woman and her husband, and there were no other patients in the entire clinic at this hour.

Now was the perfect time to make a break for it.

Just as Stan was about to wake up Kyle, he felt the sleeping pills in his coat pocket become heavy.

It occurred to him that Kyle was actually sleeping well for once, and without the influence of a drug.

He had been struggling with sleep for years, dating back to when they were both little kids, when that dastardly Eric Cartman used to sneak into his room at night and scare him. After a few years of torment, Kyle accidentally developed a defense mechanism of waking up several times throughout the night, sometimes even opting to pull all-nighters. It’s been years since Cartman actually did something like that, but Kyle’s trouble with sleep remained. (Hence the reason why Ike started drugging him; much to Stan’s distaste.)

But here Kyle was, sleeping perfectly, completely at peace. It reminded Stan of the scene in Shelley’s bedroom, when Kyle slept in total tranquility, bathing in the moonlight.

Stan would be a monster to interrupt sleep like this.

He made sure the coast was clear again before carefully prying the tubes out of Kyle’s wrist. He found it surprisingly simple to remove them one by one. He took the bag of melting ice out of Kyle’s cast and laid it aside. Kyle didn’t wake up. He flinched once or twice, frowning, but he remained asleep.

Stan slipped Kyle up onto his back. He peeked past the curtain, seeing that there was nobody in sight. There were only sounds of the woman crying and the staff panicking from several beds down.

It was now or never.

Stan ran down the clinic hall, outside, and down the sidewalk. He didn’t stop running until he made it to Gerald Broflovksi’s car. He tucked Kyle into the passenger seat, absolutely elated to discover that he was still asleep. He hopped into the driver’s seat with a bounce in his step and didn’t look back when he drove away. He just kept on driving, the nighttime country scene flying by through his windows.

As he drove, he felt the thoughts in his head start to clear. He no longer felt like he was drowning, or like he was trapped in a block of ice. The farther and farther he drove, the easier it was to breathe, and the warmer he felt. It was almost like the clinic had been sitting on an iceberg, sinking into the depths of arctic water, but Stan found an escape. With Kyle by his side, he rode out of that escape with happiness and total confidence that he was doing the right thing.

And he felt great. He really did. He felt even better than he did back at the clinic in his moment of zen, because this time he didn’t just feel tranquil, he felt _alive._ And it made him feel even better that Kyle was well now, he was asleep, but he was well.

* * *

The car gave a little _beep._

It was the fuel gage asking for a refuel. Gerald Broflovski’s car was worrisomely low on fuel after the several hours of driving accomplished both yesterday and today. It was actually somewhat impressive the car was able to last this long before needing a refuel, but Stan didn’t take the time to celebrate.

There were several gas stations around here that he had the potential to use, but Stan didn’t have any money. So he couldn’t really–

–It was then that Stan felt the bulge in his pocket. Ana María’s wallet.

“Okay then,” he said to no one; Kyle was still asleep.

Stan pulled into the nearest gas station and turned off the engine. He stepped outside the car and started to refuel.

This wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be wrong. Ana María _did_ offer him money, after all. She was a second mother to him. She had said on many occasions in the past she would do anything for him. This was just a little act of kindness from her to him. This wasn’t wrong at all.

Stan was sure that as soon as he explained everything, Ana María would understand. Kyle was healthy anyway; Stan made sure of that. There was no point in leaving him all alone in a place he didn’t know. Where was the humanity in that?

As Stan stood outside refueling the car, he peered in through the window, delightfully surprised to see that Kyle was starting to stir. He let the car keep refueling as he popped back inside the car to greet him as he woke.

“Hey there!” Stan cheered, “How’re you feeling?”

Kyle yawned and stretched his arms way over his head, mumbling, “Like I’m on _cloud nine,_ dude... God, I haven’t slept like that in _forever...”_

“Yeah, you’ve been asleep pretty much all day,” Stan rested his hand on Kyle’s knee, “You okay?”

“Oh yeah. I’m actually great,” Kyle rubbed his eyes, “You know how they say sleep loss is cumulative? I just caught up on, like… how old am I?”

“Seventeen.”

“I just caught up on seventeen years of sleep,” Kyle yawned again. Then he opened his eyes to look out the windshield. It wasn’t long after he opened his eyes that he took upon an incredibly confused look.

“We’re… in the car,” he said, perplexedly.

Stan blinked, “Yeah.”

Kyle put a hand to his forehead, “Okay. Um. ... What? Am I missing something?”

“Food?” Stan suggested.

“What?” Kyle stared.

“Food. Are you missing food? Like, are you hungry?” Stan prompted innocently, “We have plenty.”

The confused look on Kyle’s face slipped away at the mention of the word ‘food.’

“Hungry? No. Dude,” Kyle moaned, “I’m fucking _starving.”_

“Oh my god, I am too,” Stan groaned. He excitedly reached back and collected the food bags, “I just didn’t want to eat without you. I thought it would be rude.”

Stan and Kyle hungrily sorted through the bags, collecting everything that excited them in their laps. Peculiarly, Kyle sorted through the bags with one hand, keeping the other hand pressed against his forehead.

Stan noticed, “Migraine?”

“No. I don’t think so. Just a little confused, I guess? I don’t know if that’s the right word,” Kyle mumbled, picking up a snack-sized cake in plastic wrapping.

Stan shrugged, peeling back the wrapping of a protein bar for himself, “Well, you’ve been through a lot recently, Kyle. Just the fact you’re awake and communicating shows you’re already getting better, though. Your confusion’s going to go away eventually.”

Kyle frowned, “I’m just- I’m having a very hard time remembering-...”

“Remembering what?” Stan asked though a mouthful of the protein bar.

“Never mind. It’ll come to me.”

Kyle went on fumbling with the plastic wrap of the mini-cake, and Stan’s attention zeroed-in on it. Searing panic seethed in Stan’s gut when he realized that Kyle intended to open it.

“Kyle!” Stan cried, snatching the cake away from his hands, “You’re not seriously going to eat that are you?”

Kyle blanched, “I mean-... Yeah? I thought I was? Is that okay?”

“No!” Stan tossed the cake out of the driver’s side window, “Did you see the sugar content on that thing?”

“Oh, and you know everything about diabetes now?”

“Yeah, actually. I do.”

Kyle was quiet for just a second. Then he snorted and rolled his eyes, “You and your nutrition. I swear. You’re hysteri-”

“-Kyle, you would have had to double, or maybe even triple, your insulin intake for just that little cake!” Stan urged. He grabbed Kyle’s hands and held them in front of him, “Look at how cut up your fingers are already. You don’t want any more injections, do you?”

Kyle stared at his hands bound in Stan’s grasp, curiously inspecting the little nicks and slices along his fingers.

Stan watched his green eyes travel downward to land on his wrist, particularly scrutinizing the bruises left behind from the intravenous therapies. There was a sort of intensity in his stare, one that was particularly worrying for Stan to view from the outside. Kyle stared almost in horror at the red impressions left on his wrist, the veins spiking beneath the bruises.

“Kyle? You okay?” Stan asked.

He let go of Kyle’s hands as peacefully as he could. Kyle didn’t seem to notice that he was free, he just went on holding his wrists midair and inspecting them.

“I… don’t remember checking out of the clinic,” Kyle muttered, eyes glued to the bumps on his wrist.

“Well, I mean, we left the clinic. Obviously, I mean we’re here, in the car. But yeah, we did leave. I told Ana that I would, and you’re all better anyway, so there really wasn’t any reason to stay.”

“I, um, I’m sorry-” Kyle put a hand to his forehead again, clearly nearing a state of panic, “I don’t really- I’m trying to wrap my head around this. Could I- Could you give me some space? Like, just for a minute. I’m not pushing you away or anything, I just, I need space. My head hurts.”

Stan bit his lip, “Yeah, sure. The car’s probably done refilling anyway. I’ll go, uh, finish up and pay.”

Kyle didn’t say anything when he left the car.

Stan used a debit card in Ana María’s wallet to pay for the gas, and he took his sweet time during the transaction. He had to realize that Kyle was still displaying signs of confusion, and he needed to respect the space and time he requested. Kyle was… better. Wasn’t he? He was recovered; Stan made sure of that.

But if the confusion was still evident did that mean-?

No. No, this was just a minor thing. Kyle was recovered. The confusion would pass. After all, Kyle’s personality was already returning. That was a tremendously good sign.

The machine clicked when Stan’s transaction was completed, and he tucked the debit card back in the wallet accordingly. When he turned around to reenter the car, he swore he saw his life flash before his eyes when he saw what Kyle was doing through the window.

Kyle had found the bottle of Ibuprofen Stan stashed away in the driver’s door, and he was shaking out a few pills in his hands.

Stan ripped open the door and shot across the driver’s seat. Without allowing Kyle any time to react, Stan pried the bottle away from him.

“Kyle!” Stan shrieked, fear shooting through his bloodstream, “What did we say about you taking pills?”

Kyle was bewildered, both his eyes and his mouth were wide open. He clenched his fist around the few remaining tablets that he already had in his hand.

Stan’s jaw clenched, “Kyle, let go of those.”

“It’s _ibuprofen!”_ Kyle fired back.

The passion in his voice caught Stan completely off guard.

“Kyle,” Stan swallowed, his voice breaking.

Kyle grunted, frustration fuming off of his skin. He did visibly soften, though, after he took in how his tone affected Stan. He took two or three deep breaths, and then continued, his tone straightforward and dead-on:

“Stan. My head hurts. It’s late at night. This completely safe bottle of over-the-counter-medicine is the property of my family. This _car_ is the property of my family,” Kyle found a bottle of juice in a food bag and opened it with one hand, his other hand still firmly clenched around the tablets, “And, I’m not going to sugar coat this, my head feels like shit. I don’t feel… right. I don’t feel right, Stan, and I want to take something to clear my head. So if you don’t mind-”

-Kyle put the three pills on his tongue, and moved the juice bottle toward his mouth-

-Stan’s stomach churned. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. He didn’t like this, it was becoming overwhelming, he couldn’t take this, he-

-Stan shot forward and seized the tablets from Kyle’s tongue, desultory knocking the bottle of juice over to spill all over the floor of the car. Kyle jumped in surprise, while Stan tossed the pills out the car window, followed by the entire bottle that he was still holding.

Kyle tensed in stun, anger manifesting in his stillness. He snapped his head at Stan, furiousness burning in his eyes, while he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at him expectantly.

“Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on, Stan?” Kyle charged, his words like cutting knives.

Stan stared back at him incredulously, “Kyle, what do you mean? You know what we decided. It’s not good for you to be taking pills anymore. Not after what Ike-”

“-Shut up,” Kyle barked, “Do not bring him into this. This- This _thing_ about pills? You decided that, Stan. Not ‘we.’ That was all you. I feel like-”

Kyle’s uninjured foot started to tap rapidly, shaking the whole car in it’s distress.

“-I feel like you don’t _talk_ to me anymore,” Kyle’s tone was less aggressive, but just as upset, “Maybe it’s just because I’ve been sick lately, maybe I just haven’t been able to think clearly, but I cannot remember the last time you and I made a decision together.”

“But we did,” Stan whined softly. He was starting to sound like a child all over again, and he hated it, “You and I agreed to leave your house together. I wanted to save you, and you agreed it was for the best. Don’t you remember?”

After Stan spoke, Kyle softened, but his foot kept tapping nervously.

“Stan,” Kyle started, his voice wavering, “You are my super best friend and the person I trust more than anyone else on the whole fucking planet, okay? You realize that, right? I just feel like you don’t talk to me anymore. I feel like you’re doing all this impulsive shit without- well, without telling me. And it-”  
Kyle took in a shaky breath, his foot tapping at an insanely fast speed, “It- It pisses me off, and it worries me. Okay? This- This isn’t what super best friends do to each other.”

Something turned over in Stan’s stomach.

“Kyle,” Stan murmured, his heart throbbing, “You’re my super best friend, too. You always will be. You have to realize that everything I do, I do for you.”

Kyle huffed, drawing into himself, “I don’t see it.”

Those words hurt more than they probably should have.

Stan was used to putting up his defenses, hiding behind protective walls when he was around other people, especially around threats. But it was always different with Kyle. He never felt like he had to hide his vulnerability from him. Kyle was always behind the wall with him, the two of them frolicking together in the safety barrier they offered each other.

So having that kind of exposure be assailed by his favorite person was a wound to the soul.

Stan felt himself tear up, bitterness embedding his tone, “How do you not see it?”

Kyle just replied in his trademark sarcastic way, “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I’ve been _unconscious_ for most of it.”

“You were sick,” Stan argued, “You couldn’t make any good choices or decisions, your brain was all fucked up. I made the good choices for you because you were incapable of doing so. That’s what good friends do for each other.”

“Is it?”

“I was _taking care_ of you!” Stan cried, “And I still am! Kyle, you probably don’t even remember, but you were so confused you couldn’t tell green from purple. You were so sick that your stomach pump couldn’t even detect your glucose. You forgot and repeated things like twenty times! Do you honestly think you were capable of taking care of yourself at that time?!”

The characteristic aplomb that Kyle worked so hard to bring to life finally weakened. Stan’s words must have struck a chord with him, because his foot stopped tapping and his posture dipped.

Kyle turned around to face the window, his back facing Stan when he admitted, in a tone as cold as ice, “I guess you have a point.”

“I do,” Stan muttered, looking on worriedly, “You know I’m always doing what’s best for you. And, well, if you don’t agree with any of the things I’ve done so far, maybe you and I could talk about-”

“-Where are we?”

“...”

“...”

“Kyle?”

“Where are we?”

Stan felt his heart quicken, “Does- Does it matter?”

“It matters.”

Stan tried to play it off, the nervousness fluttering in his gut making it difficult for him to focus, “I, I mean, well, we’re not at your house, and we’re not at the hospital, so we’re safe. So it really doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It _matters.”_

“...”

“...”

“...kind of close to Laramie.”

Kyle snapped away from the window. His eyes were exceptionally wide, like a deer in the headlights, “What did you say?”

“We’re just outside of Laramie…” Stan murmured.

“Laramie. As in Laramie, Wyoming?”

Stan forced a laugh, “Do you know another Laramie?”

The fake laugh was followed by an uncomfortable silence.

Then something eerily unexpected happened. Kyle started laughing. Genuinely. Kyle was laughing so hard that he threw his head back and had to put a hand to his side, his whole frame racked with laugh, after laugh, after laugh.

Stan was so startled that he could do nothing but sit there and watch until Kyle finished and caught his breath.

“Oh _God!”_ Kyle chuckled wiping his eyes, “Now that-- _Ha!_ That right there was funny. You know, for a second, I actually thought you were being serious! I got all freaked out, ‘cause you were so into it. Oh God! That was funny. I actually thought you were serious.”

Stan swallowed.

Kyle blinked, “That was a joke, though. Right? We’re just- We’re only at a gas station. We’re not actually anywhere near-”

From where he sat, Stan could see Kyle’s eyes start to water, and he watched him go pale all at once.

Kyle choked, “Oh God.”

“Kyle?”

“Oh God,” Kyle repeated, shaking with his whole body. He started to fumble with the car door feverishly, pulling and yanking uncoordinatedly until he finally managed to push the door open. On his one good leg, he tried to jump out of the car, but immediately collapsed to the ground in his quaking, trembling state.

“Kyle!” Stan shrieked. He hopped out of his seat and bolted around the car to Kyle’s side on the icy ground. He tried to help him stand up, but Kyle was convulsing too much to even sit up straight.

“Stan, Stan, you’re kidding me right?” Kyle trembled in Stan’s arms, his eyes quivering back and forth with uncertainty, “This, this can’t be- Oh my God, Stan, you took us out of the state?! We’re in Wyoming?!”

“Kyle!” Stan keened; it seemed to be the only word he could manage at this point.

Stan rocked him back and forth in his arms, much like how they did in the farmhouse bathroom only a day ago, trying to calm him while he was still panicking himself.

Kyle just shook his head wildly in Stan’s hold, “No, no, this can’t- I can’t believe- How could you do something like this?!”

“Kyle!”

“You can’t- Why would you?!”

“Kyle…”

“Stan, please! How could you do this?!”

“...for you,” Stan whispered, his voice breaking. He wrapped his arms tighter around Kyle’s frame as he cradled him on the icy concrete, the blistering wind swirling around them and stinging their faces, a coyote howling somewhere in the far distance.

Stan could feel Kyle hiccup against his chest, his entire being tremouring from the inside out, “You- You can’t-”

“-I’m sorry if I scared you,” Stan whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.

Kyle’s face was buried in the area between Stan’s chest and shoulder, so Stan’s crying went unseen.

“Stan, when are you going to realize that you- that you can’t just- that it’s not all about you?”

“But it was never about me. It was always about you…”

Catching Stan very much by surprise, Kyle actually opened his arms and hugged Stan back, returning an equal level of comfort and assurance. They sat there holding each other beneath the roof of the gas station, being blasted by the arctic wind somewhere outside of Laramie.

Kyle sniffed before he said, “Stan, we need to talk. I know that people say that to you a lot, but you never really get around to-... Stan, we- We really need to talk.”

“Okay,” Stan murmured, holding Kyle tightly, a few more tears escaping, “Okay, that sounds good. Do you want to- Do you want to, like, find a hotel for the night or something?”

“Whatever works,” Kyle hiccupped again, “Whatever you want. As long as we-”

“-As long as we talk. Sure. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Let’s get back in the car, then.”

"Okay."

Neither of them moved.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to this point in the story, you deserve a gold medal!! :D
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: /slight/ violence  
> (The violence is actually so slight though, that you may not even consider it violence. Depending on whose perspective you read from, there may not even be violence at all :0)

The first thing Stan did when they reached their hotel room was shower.

Not really. The  _ very first _ thing Stan did was put Kyle down on the bed and pamper him. He laid Kyle down on the bed, propped his broken ankle up on a pillow, and scattered the bed with various safe food items, as well as Kyle’s sudokus and fidget spinner. All the attention was making Kyle a little uncomfortable, that was easy to concede, but Stan couldn’t help it; it may have made Kyle feel weird to be showered with care, but it made Stan feel good.

Besides, after that sour note where they left off back at the gas station, Stan needed to reassure Kyle that they were on good terms. They were still super best friends. They were just going to talk, that was all.

To be fair, though, Stan probably needed to reassure  _ himself _ that they were on good terms a lot more.

Only when Stan was absolutely certain that Kyle was well taken care of, he retreated to the bathroom to shower. And all things considered, it was probably the best shower Stan had ever had in his life.

It was not an impressive showering space by any means. He respected Ana María’s money enough to not waste it on someplace luxurious. He only paid for a room with one bed, after all. This was just a cheap hotel he found on the side of the road; and the shower reflected that. It was not well cleaned, the tiles were old and slippery, the tiny bottles of body wash and shampoo were impossible to open, and the water was way too hot; Stan could go on. But even though the facilities were definitely fixer-uppers, just the feeling of cleansing after two days was transformative.

Stan felt like he was washing away all the stress, anxieties, and troubles he had over the past few days. He washed away the scent of Kyle’s spilled juice from the car, as well as the sterile chemical smell from the clinic. He even washed away the smell of Gerald Broflovski. Out of context, it sounded odd, and frankly, a little wrong. But after sitting in his car for hours and hours, Stan accidentally picked up the man’s reprobate odor, and it made him feel ashamed. So being able to stand under hot water and scrub away all of the calamity was cathartic.

When Stan finished showering, he dried off and dressed himself in one of the hotel robes. He let his clothes sit on the countertop; they were old and stinky already, he didn’t need to get back into them just yet. Then he actually used the hotel blow dryer to dry his hair, which was something he had to admit he never cared to do before.

When he was finished, he felt so much better. It was laughable how girlish he sounded to admit that a nice, hot shower calmed him, but it was true. He almost felt born again.

He tucked the blow dryer back in a drawer and returned to the main room of the hotel, where he was caught by surprise on the spot. Kyle was lying on the bed with Stan’s phone pressed against his ear, in deep conversation with someone on the other line.

It didn’t take long for Stan to realize who the other caller might be.

“Kyle,” Stan warned, “What are you doing?”

Kyle covered the phone speaker with his hand.

“One sec,” he told Stan, and then went back to listening to the other speaker.

“No, Kyle,” Stan warned again, voice becoming tight, “I’m serious, I don’t think this is the best time to call someone right now. How did you even get into my phone?”

Kyle covered the speaker with his hand again, “Your phone was here on the bed, it started ringing, and I picked it up. That’s all.”

Stan already had an idea of who could be calling, and he didn’t like it. He looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and then scowled, “It’s two thirty in the morning on a Sunday! Why would they bother you at two thirty in the morning on a Sunday?”

“The same reason why you’d check into a hotel in a Laramie suburb at two thirty in the morning on a Sunday,” Kyle retorted defiantly.

Stan felt butterflies flutter in his stomach, “Who’s calling you? Kenny or Ike?”

“Both,” Kyle replied, still cupping the speaker with his hand, “They’re just talking, they’re not doing anything wrong.”

“You haven’t told them where we are, have you?”

Kyle’s eyes glanced downward for a second, “No. I thought you’d get upset.”

Apprehension coarsed through Stan’s veins, but he contended to appear calm and collected, “That’s- That’s good. Thank you.”

Kyle held his gaze with Stan for a little too long before saying, “You’re welcome.”

“Are you gonna tell-” Stan struggled to find the right words, his mind reeling, “What are you gonna tell them?”

Kyle forced a shrug, “What I want to.”

Stan felt like he was fighting a losing battle. There still seemed to be some sort of underlying respect between them, since Kyle kept their location secret for Stan’s sake, but Stan could sense that Kyle was not going to surrender this call under any circumstance.

Stan frowned. It was odd. He had thought that he would like it when Kyle’s firebrand personality returned. Instead, it just made Stan feel small. He hadn’t predicted that Kyle would retaliate against him of all people.

Kyle wasn’t necessarily fighting Stan, but it was clear that the two of them were on thin ice with each other.

“Do-” Stan cleared his throat, “Do you need some privacy? For the call? I can leave the room if you want.”

Kyle was visibly very much surprised by Stan’s proposal.

“Seriously? You’d do that?”

Stan nodded, his head feeling far too heavy, “Sure. I mean, I could go check out the hotel’s gym or something.”

“But you just took a shower,” Kyle said almost pitifully.

Stan shrugged, “I could always shower again.”

“If that’s what you want...” Kyle murmured, looking Stan up and down carefully.

His head heavy on his shoulders, Stan retreated to the bathroom to put his shirt and pants back on. He wasn’t wearing appropriate workout attire by any means, but he doubted anyone would be at the gym at this hour to bother him about it. Just before he was about to head out the bathroom, his gaze fell back on his coat, and he thought of the pills in its pocket.

He worried his lip. Something didn’t feel right about just leaving his coat exposed like that.

Stan stuffed his coat along with the sleeping pills into the drawer, right beside the blow dryer he used a few minutes ago.

He tried not to make eye contact with Kyle, who was still on Stan’s phone, as he returned to the bedroom to collect the key card. Kyle watched Stan moving around the room, but didn’t speak to him. Kyle was speaking to Ike on the phone, talking about how he was feeling in medical terms, his eyes following Stan as he picked up the key card and slipped on his shoes.

Stan waved a little goodbye as he stood by the door, and was surprised when Kyle actually waved back.

For some reason, just that little gesture made Stan feel slightly better.

Just like he predicted, there was nobody else in the hotel gym. He was amazed to discover that the gym was even open at this hour, but he was honestly unimpressed by what it had to offer; though it’s not like he was expecting much when he went in. The gym was small, and only had one mirror. There were two treadmills, two sets of weights resting on the same rack, a few jump ropes, two weighted basketballs, and a decaying yoga mat in the corner.

Stan approached the jump ropes hanging on a hook, thinking he should probably warm up and get his heart rate going if he was going to attempt weights. But just as his fingers brushed the surface of the plastic jump rope handle, he stopped.

It didn’t feel right.

Something about being down here and working out like nothing was wrong, like everything was normal, was almost an insult to the circumstance. It’s not like Stan forgot that he was sitting in boiling water. His head was still weighing him down, it was heavy with troubles he wasn’t ready to face.

Kyle seemed to be almost mad at Stan. He wasn’t necessarily  _ angry, _ at least not from what Stan could see. But Kyle was really on edge.

Stan had to admit that he wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction when he took Kyle to Laramie. He had thought Kyle would be grateful, or at least excited to be away from home. Instead, Kyle just became really defensive and stressed out, and that really worried Stan. He thought that taking Kyle somewhere safe would help him relax, he had hoped it would make him feel secure and protected. That’s all Stan wanted, to prove how much he cared.

Why Laramie? He had no idea. It was Ike who first made Stan think of leaving the state after the phone call a few hours ago. After the clinic, Stan just did his best to get away from country roads and find a highway, and he simply followed it until he ran out of fuel in the next state. It was as straightforward as that.

Stan was only glad he was far enough away from home that he wouldn’t have to worry about police officers, his dad, Kenny, or any of the Broflovkis. He wasn’t out of trouble, not yet, but he was far enough away that he could afford to not worry about them at the moment.

Of course, that depended on what Ike and Kenny were talking to Kyle about. Stan didn’t know what kind of influence they could have from a whole different state, but he was still uneasy about Kyle calling them, after what happened back at the farmhouse it was hard to dismiss all the damage they had done.

It certainly didn’t make him feel any better that Stan was in an entirely different part of the hotel while Kyle was casually talking to them on the phone right at that moment. 

Kyle was up there in the hotel room, all alone on a bed he couldn’t leave. Just like Stan’s worst fear about the clinic. But it was even worse than the clinic this time, because Kyle was at risk of being hurt by Ike and Kenny all over again. He was completely vulnerable to anything they could say or do, and Stan was too far away to stop it.

Stan couldn’t stay in this gym anymore. He needed to go back to the hotel room.

And he did just that. The hallways were empty, not one worker or a guest in sight, but that was expected at this hour. The elevator ride to the second story was painfully slow, which only made Stan’s anxiety raise further.

Back in the hotel room, Kyle was in the same position that Stan left him in, resting back against the bed but still sitting up, his broken ankle propped up on a pillow, Kyle’s belongings and various food items swept to the side.

He was still talking on Stan’s phone. He was actually midway through a sentence when Stan approached, and he stopped to say:

“Oh wait, actually, he just walked in. Do you want to ask him that question?” Kyle asked the phone, catching Stan’s attention.

Panic flared through Stan’s entire body at the thought of having to talk to Ike or Kenny again.

He raised his hands in surrender and shook his head no, desperately hoping Kyle would understand.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it. He spoke to the other line, “Wait, no. He actually just went to the toilet.”

Stan mouthed the words ‘Thank you’ in response, but Kyle didn’t acknowledge it. He just went on listening to whoever was speaking on the side of the phone call.

“Okay,” Kyle said, “Okay. You can call later then. ... Yes, I’m sure he’ll be around.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “No, I’m not being  _ forced _ to leave. Stan’s on the toilet, remember? ... Okay. ... Okay, bye guys.”

And with that, Kyle ended the call and set the phone aside, looking up to Stan.

Stan waved, “Um. Hi.”

“Hi,” Kyle’s gaze narrowed, “So you decided not to work out after all?”

“I didn’t want to shower twice,” Stan forced a shrug. He considered sitting down on the bed next to Kyle, but thought that might be inappropriate for the moment. So Stan just stood by the wall a little awkwardly, “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“The call.”

“Good,” Kyle said blankly, which made Stan worry if he really meant it.

From the outside, it looked like Kyle could sense the awkward tension too, because he shifted strangely as he patted a spot on the bed next to him.

“Do you want to sit down?” Kyle asked.

“Not just yet,” Stan answered honestly, hoping he wasn’t coming off as too rude, “It’s just- I’ve been driving all day. My legs are a little stiff. I think I need to stand.”

“I get it.”

Stan attempted a little light humor to break the tension, “So, like, your brother didn’t track that call or anything, right? Like he’s not secretly sending FBI agents to our location.”

Kyle seemed to be nervous when he responded, “He doesn’t know how to track phone calls.”

Stan winced when the joke didn’t land correctly. He mustered up the courage to sit down on the bed next to him, “Hey, Kyle? Would you hate me if I asked what you talked about on the phone?”

“Stan, I would never hate you,” Kyle said in a voice as smooth as honey, that horrible confused look in his eyes again.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t know, I was just down at the gym, and I couldn’t stop thinking about-- well, you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and them, and the phone call, and I got really anxious.”

“Anxious about what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. You, I guess. N-Not anxious about you, not you, personally, but things that could, you know,  _ happen.” _

“Things that could happen… to me?”

“Yeah…”

“By talking on the phone with Kenny and Ike?”

“I guess. I don’t know.”

Kyle took a shaky breath, “Look, I don’t know if you’re--I don’t know- scared about this talk we’re about to have or whatever, but I would never hate you. The talk I want to have doesn’t have anything to do with this call. It actually doesn’t have anything to do with Ike or Kenny at all. I just want to have a talk about us, okay? And I would never hate you.”

Stan bit his lip, “So does that mean I’m not allowed to ask about the call? Since you said we’re not gonna talk about it…”

Kyle poked his tongue at the side of his mouth, visibly frustrated but doing his best to restrain, “Stan. I can safely assure you that nothing ‘happened to me’ on the call. We just talked.”

“About what, though? You didn’t, like, give them our location or something like that, did you?”

“No, Stan, I respect the fact you’re under a lot of pressure right now, so I refused to mention anything that has anything to do with you,” Kyle replied, managing to keep his anger under control, “They kept asking about you, what you’re doing, what you’re doing to  _ me, _ where we are, everything like that. I didn’t answer any of those questions. I have the common decency to respect my best friend, believe it or not.”

Stan felt like he was punched in the gut.

But even that punch didn’t compare to the overwhelming yearning he felt, that there was still more that he desperately needed to know.

Stan leaned forward on the bed, gaining inches closer to Kyle, “Yeah, but, like… if you didn’t talk about me or where we are, then what did you talk about?”

“Do you really not trust me?”

“I just want to know what you were talking about. Is that too much to ask? I can’t help it if I don’t trust them talking to you. I want to know.”

“I asked if you didn’t trust  _ me,”  _ Kyle whined, his lips quivering, “You clearly don’t. But somehow, I still care, so I’ll fucking tell you anyway!”

“Kyle-”

“-I talked about how I was feeling. Health-wise. That’s all. I just went silent at all other questions, because for whatever reason, I still respect your needs! You’ve done all this crazy stuff within the past few hours, most of them without my knowledge or consent, but I still care about your opinion, Stan, and I didn’t want to discuss anything that would make you uncomfortable, even though you weren’t even in the room!”

Kyle picked up an empty snack can of unsalted nuts that was lying on the bed, “Oh, and by the way, don’t fucking worry your little panties into a knot about my blood sugar. I actually  _ ate food  _ while you were gone. I got my fucking protein in for the day.”

He chucked the nut can at Stan’s forehead; it made a  _ clunk _ sound and bounced off.

There was a beat of silence.

“Ow,” Stan muttered.

There was another beat of silence, and then the both of them erupted into laughter.

“Did you just throw a can of nuts at me?!” Stan exclaimed, laughing.

Kyle laughed excitedly, “It- It- It made a  _ coconut  _ sound! Oh my god, your head is  _ hollow!” _

“It is not!” Stan roared in the midst of his laughter.

“It is too! Your head is hollow! You don’t have a brain!”

“Kyle!”

“Oh my god!

“You threw a can of nuts at me!”

_ “It made a coconut sound!” _

Just as Stan’s sides started hurting, the shrieking and hollering started to die down. Kyle was curled up on his back now, whimpering with soft giggles, while Stan was flushing uncontrollably as he tried to stop laughing.

“Oh, god, I needed that,” Stan moaned, rubbing his hands over his face, still slightly snickering, “That convo was getting way too intense. God, I needed that. I feel great now.”

Kyle giggled, “Coconut.”

Stan took in a deep, deep inhale. He kept his hands over his face, starting to calm, when he said, “Kyle, I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t trust you. That’s not really true. See, I guess I was- I guess I was still operating under the impression that you were still weak, so I thought you couldn’t stand up for yourself, if that makes any sense. I forgot you had gotten better, I thought you were still sick and vulnerable.”

Kyle let out a long sigh, “That’s sweet, it really is, but I don’t believe it.”   
He sat up straight and went on, “I’m not picking a fight with you or anything, I’m just saying I don’t believe it. ‘Cause one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Stan, was that you’ve been acting defensive and like you don’t trust me to take care of myself for a while now. This behavior isn’t a new thing.”

Stan eased back on the bed, “So is this ‘the talk’ you wanted to have? You just started and I’m already nervous.”

“Actually,” Kyle started, avoiding eye contact. He turned toward the nightstand and picked up the hotel-provided pen and notepad, explaining, “I, um, I made a list? While you were gone, I made a list of all the points I want to go over with you.”

Stan laughed, “You’re so organized.”

“I just don’t want anything to go unsaid. There are… a lot of things that we need to go over,” Kyle said that last part a little guiltily, ducking his head down. The gesture only made Stan more uneasy.

But before Stan could offer any words of reassurance, Kyle cleared his throat.

“Stan, I want to have the floor first,” Kyle stated, “And I don’t want you to say anything until I’m done speaking.”

“Wait a minute, Kyle,” Stan sat up, “Are you, like, accusing me of something? Are you interrogating me?”

Kyle placed a hand to his forehead; this was a gesture that Stan was really starting to hate. It seemed that these days he was doing it more often than he was tapping his foot. Stan couldn’t help but wonder if it meant anything on a psychological level.

“I’m not-” Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, his hand still bearing heavily on his forehead, “I’m not ‘accusing’ you of anything. I just want to talk to you, Stan. I want to talk to you.”

Kyle took a pause before adding, “But I want to be heard, too.”

“... Okay. But do you have to be so serious about this?”

“You were the one who asked me where the feisty punk from Jersey went. He was sick. He’s trying to come back, but he needs to say some things and he needs to be heard.”

“...Okay.”

Kyle gave Stan a long look, one that Stan couldn’t exactly read, before referring to the first note on his list.

“Number one,” Kyle said, gaining that sense of confident directness that had been lacking for a while, “Your defensiveness, what we were talking about. You always act like I need saving. And it’s true that there are some circumstances when sometimes, I do. Like when I was fainting all over the place. I needed to be taken care of, and you did that for me, so thank you. But if I’m talking to somebody at school, or I simply don’t feel like eating, or I’m just calling Kenny and Ike on the phone, I really don’t need to be looked after.”

Stan opened his mouth to speak, but Kyle shushed him, “No. Please. Let me go through everything I want to say first.”

Stan wrapped his arms around himself on the bed.

Kyle went on, “Number two. I feel like you’re not being careful about anything anymore. You used to be a lot like me, you know, making plans, thinking things through, things like that. But now you’re really impulsive, and it’s honestly really worrying. You act like you know what you’re doing, but the decisions you make are just so wild that it’s hard to believe you do. Like driving us out to Laramie. What was that about?”

Kyle pulled up a finger, “Rhetorical question. Don’t answer. Number three, I feel like there’s less honestly between the two of us. I don’t think you’re lying to me, exactly. I don’t think you are. But I feel like sometimes you hide the truth from me. That’s different than lying, but it still feels like lying, you know? Like people having crushes on me? I had-”

-Kyle cleared his throat, “I had no idea about that. And I know it seems unimportant to you, but to have a boyfriend or girlfriend? Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted that? Since the fourth grade. And I feel like you hid the truth about that for no reason. But it’s not just that, I’m sure you’re hiding other things too…”

“Kyle-”

“-Let me finish. Number four, I-”

The redhead stopped, before continuing with a shaky breath, “-Stan, I just... I lie to you sometimes. Like, I’m not- I don’t always agree with what you want. When you first took me away from my house, I just went along with it for your sake, I didn’t actually want to leave. I might have said I did, but I didn’t. And then the clinic thing-”   
-Kyle let out a sad laugh, “I don’t even know what was running through my head at that time. I must have been loopy from all the passing out or something, but I really wanted a real hospital. And the clinic, it… it didn’t feel right. It felt like some sketchy operating room done in somebody’s basement or something. No offense to you or the doctor, of course, but I just felt so wrong being there.”

Stan swallowed, tears welling in his eyes, “Why’d you go to the clinic, then?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle smiled sadly, on the verge of tears himself, “Same reason as you, I guess. I’m just riding along for my super best friend.”

“No. No, really, Kyle, why’d you agree to go, then?”

“...Because sometimes I get the feeling that if I don’t do what you want that you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“...”

“I’m not wrong, Stan. I know you just as well as you know me. I know the way you think, and I’m sorry if that sounds creepy or whatever, but it means that I know you’re really troubled. I’m sorry for that,” Kyle put his arm around Stan’s shoulders now, “I really care about you, dude, and I appreciate how much you care about me, but we really have some issues we need to work through.”

“What do you mean?”

Kyle squeezed Stan’s shoulders tighter, his entire arm extended around Stan’s impressive breadth. Kyle then rested his head down on Stan’s shoulder in comfort before elaborating:

“We can start by working on our communication,” Kyle said, and let out a sad laugh against Stan’s shoulder, “I’m making us sound like a fucking old couple, Stan! Why is this so hard? Okay, okay, okay. All I want is for the two of us to be able to communicate before you launch into some crazy decision. That’s all I ask.”

Stan could feel Kyle’s arm around him and his head on his shoulder, but the embrace didn’t feel warm at all, almost like there was a hesitancy in the gesture. Something felt terribly off.

“Stan, I’m sorry for lying all those times I said I agreed with you,” Kyle murmured, “I know it was wrong of me. And honestly? I think I only made our situation worse each time. I’m sorry, dude.”

“...”

“But I only did it because I wanted to look out for you. Just like how you look out for me.”

“...”

“You can speak now. I’m done. I finished all the points on my list.”

“...”

“Sorry if the list thing pissed you off. You know me and my organization.”

“...”

“Stan, you’re scaring me. What’s up?”

“Kyle wouldn’t lie to me.”

Kyle pulled back from his hold around Stan ever so slightly, before Stan seized him by the arm, catching Kyle completely off guard.

_ “Stan! _ What’re you-”

“-Kyle, I know you. You said it yourself, we both know each other so well,” Stan urged, “I know you don’t like to lie, you always stand up for the truth, don’t you? You’re always defending what’s right. That’s one of the things I love about you.”

Kyle winced, he shook his head, “No, no, Stan, this is different-”

“-And Kyle, you have so much self confidence!” Stan went on, pulling Kyle’s arm in closer to look him in the eye, “In everything besides your grades and your family life, you do so well when it comes to standing up for yourself! You wouldn’t just back down, especially if you thought something was wrong.”

“Stan, you’re hurting my arm-!”

“-And you especially wouldn’t lie to  _ me,”  _ Stan whimpered, his grip around Kyle’s arms tightening further, “We’re super best friends, remember? You wouldn’t- you- you wouldn’t ever lie to me.”

“I’m  _ sorry, _ okay? They were just little white lies. They were for you! I lied for your sake!”

When it finally occurred to Stan what was actually going on, he swore he could have retched.

“Oh my God,” Stan muttered, alarm and hysteria building up inside of him, “Oh my God. Kyle.”

He let go of Kyle’s arm and took his porcelain face in his hands.

Kyle didn’t pull away, but the fear in his wide green eyes was incontestable.

“Kyle,” Stan soft-pedaled now, lightly stroking the side of Kyle’s face with his thumb, “It was Ike who put you up to this, right?”

“...what?”

“Kenny, too. Kenny and Ike on the phone. They told you to make all of this up, didn’t they? They told you to lie and tell that stupid made-up story, so I would be convinced to take you home again.”

Kyle froze from head to toe.

“Oh Kyle,” Stan uttered shakily, “Oh, I’m so sorry they did that to you. That’s- That’s just sick. They know how much you love them and they took advantage of that. They tried to turn you against the only person keeping you safe. They tried turning you into a weapon- Oh Kyle. Oh Kyle, they tried to turn you into a _weapon!_ I’m so sorry, Kyle! That’s so sick!”

Kyle didn’t even acknowledge Stan’s hands around his face, he just sat there and trembled; he seemed to be searching for something in Stan’s expression with those terrified green eyes.

Fear throbbed inside Stan as he watched goosebumps break out along Kyle’s upper arms.

“Hey, Kyle? You okay? Your glucose levels aren’t rising, are they?”

“Stan,” Kyle whimpered, his face still cradled in Stan’s hold, “Stan, you can’t- I-  _ What?  _ Stan, how could you- You- How could you come up with something like that?”

“You don’t need to defend them, it’s okay.”

“No, Stan,” Kyle cried, the color draining from his face.

“Stop defending them. You don’t need to worry about them here. We’re far away, you’re safe from them.”

“They didn’t do anything wrong! I- I just- H-How could you just come up with something like that? Why aren’t you listening to me?!”

“They aren’t going to hurt you anymore,” Stan clamored, locking his grip on Kyle’s face tightly.

Kyle winced at the sudden pressure, eyes wild with panic, “They didn’t do anything! They didn’t do anything, I swear!”

“Oh, Kyle, look at what they’ve done to you. You-You’re all jittery.”

“They haven’t-!”

“-Oh, no, you’re shaking! Look at those goosebumps all over your arms...” Stan murmured, panic seizing his brain, “Look at what they’ve  _ done  _ to you… Oh, you’re so scared. I’ve never seen you so scared before, not even around Cartman or your dad. You’re always so headstrong.”

“Stan, listen to me!”

“It’s true, though,” Stan could feel himself tear up as he held Kyle’s face closely, “You’re always so headstrong, and you don’t like lying! You would never lie to me! Look at what they’ve done to you!”

“I really did lie to you! I-I lied to you, I’m so sorry, but I lied to you a-all those times I said I agreed-”

“-Kyle, you’re only lying right now because you’re being forced to!” Stan fired back, “You would never lie to me on your own free will. You’re doing this because they made you feel like you don’t have a choice. I’m so sorry, Kyle. That’s just so _cruel._ That’s so awful. I’m so sorry they’re doing this to you-”

“-Stan, for the love of God,  _ listen _ to me!”

“They’ve fucked up your head, Kyle,” Stan murmured, a nameless dread engulfing him. A few tears broke free, slipping down his face as he trembled with Kyle’s face in his grip.   
Kyle physically cowered when Stan professed, “They’ve fucked up your head. They made you delusional, Kyle... I’m so sorry.”

Kyle actually choked.

“Woah woah woah woah,” Stan hushed, letting go of Kyle’s face to inspect him, “You okay? That didn’t sound like a healthy noise. You-”

“-I’m delusional?” Kyle asked, “You think that _I’m_ delusional?! Stan, you, you’re- Stan, you’re senile! Oh my fucking God, Stan, you’re _neurotic!”_

Raw terror thundered down on Stan as his hands left Kyle’s face, because he was able to clearly see the horrific sight before him. Bruises shaped like fingerprints were dotted all along the sides of his face, reaching all the way from his temples down to his jaw. Ugly, malicious spots of blue and purple.

“Oh my god,” Stan whispered, “Oh my god, when did those get there? I didn’t see them earlier…”

“What are you going on about now?!”

“Those bruises,” Stan murmured, “I didn’t-... Who did that to you? Was it Ike or your dad?”

“Stan, there is something  _ very  _ wrong with you!” Kyle exclaimed, “We- Stan, we have to get you to a m-mental hospital or something. You’re not listening to me, and you’re acting neurotic, and you-”

“-Kyle, those bruises look like they really hurt-”

“-And you’re  _ still  _ not listening to me! It’s like I don’t even exist to you! B-But at the same time, it’s like I’m the  _ only  _ thing in the world that exists to you!”

“I swear when I get my hands on that little fucker, I’m gonna-”

_ “-Stan!” _ Kyle screeched now, his voice impossibly strained. He was shaking with his entire body, and the fear in his eyes made him look almost insane, “We need to leave, Stan! We need to go home! I don’t know what’s ha-happening to you, but you’re not going to get any better if you just stay here. We need to go home. Please.”

Fear pulsed through Stan’s body as he registered the words, along with the desperate tone in Kyle’s voice. Just the grave  _ needing _ in the way Kyle begged made Stan’s scalp prick and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Stan palliated as softly as he could, his heart ripping apart, “Oh, no… No, Kyle, no. No, we can’t.”

“I can’t go on  _ worrying  _ about you like this!”

“-Ssh, ssh, ssh, calm down. Calm down,” Stan soothed, “Please don’t worry. I’m okay. I’m okay when I’m with you. That’s what super best friends are for, right?”

“Stan-”

“-It’s okay, we can leave this hotel if you want, but we’re not going home.”

_ “Stan.” _

“I’m not going to let you go home,” Stan whispered, dread gnawing at his insides, “I mean, look at your poor face. All those bruises. And the way they manipulated you on the phone like that. Oh God, they’re so awful, I’m so sorry I never realized how much danger you were in before. I’m never going to let you go back to that again.”

“...You’re never gonna let me go home?”

“I promised I’d look out for you.”

Kyle was so pale he looked ashen grey. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, his eyes wide open and dead.

Stan pressed a soft hand on his neck attentively, “Kyle, what’s wrong?”

“...I think I’m gonna puke.”

Before Stan could do anything to help him, Kyle tried to shoot up from the bed on his own. He must have forgotten his injured foot, because the exact second he jumped up, he went crashing down to the carpeted floor of the hotel room.

He didn’t recover long enough to get back up again; Kyle just held his stomach and vomited right there on the floor, trembling all the while.

Stan was quick to get the insulin pricks from one of the bags, and used it to assess Kyle’s glucose levels.

“Jesus Christ, Kyle!” Stan cried, reading the monitor, “You’re at three hundred and twenty! Jesus Christ!”

Kyle didn’t respond; Stan seriously doubted he would even be physically capable of doing so. Stan did what he could, and went through the process of using the insulin pricks on Kyle’s fingers while he quaked on the floor.

When Stan was done inserting the insulin, he couldn’t help but bite his lip with worry. His face was still wet with tears, and the terror inside of him was only swelling larger, but Stan still mustered up the ability to whisper, “Oh Kyle, look at what they’ve done to you. N-Not just your raised blood sugar, b-but, I mean,  _ look  _ at you… They got you all shaken up. I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

He reached out his hand to embrace him, but Kyle just flinched and pulled away.

“See, this is the reason why I never tried to tell you how I felt before,” Kyle spat. He rubbed his mouth disgustedly, hunching over his own vomit on hands and knees, “I knew it would end like this… I don’t know why I was stupid enough to think I could actually get through to you.”

“You don’t need to keep lying for them.”

“...Ike was right.”

Stan scowled, seeing the many fingerprint bruises along the sides of Kyle’s face, “What could that creep possibly be right about?”

“That by trying to make you happy I’m only hurting myself.”

Stan felt a flash of worry, “Was that another lie he told you to tell?”

“...”

“Kyle?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Right. Just another lie.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Violence

Ever since Kyle threw up four hours ago, he had been lying on the bed, curdled up in a fetal position, and despondent to saying a single word. Stan had put on the TV for him, but Kyle barely paid attention. Stan also gave him his sudokus and fidget spinner, but he wasn’t interested at all. Stan didn’t even bother trying to get him to eat anything, despite the fact he knew just how much Kyle needed it.

Stan didn’t blame him for being so depressed, of course. Kyle had been through a lot already. And especially after he shed light on the phone conversation with him, Stan imagined it must have been really hard for him to handle.

It was just after six in the morning now, and Stan sat by himself on the bed, watching the TV.

A while ago, Kyle had gone to take a bath; and he had been overwhelmingly anxious to do so. It made Stan feel pitiful when Kyle had to explain that he hadn’t bathed since the bus accident, and he seemed to be incredibly ashamed by that fact alone.

So Stan prepared a bath for him, they tied a plastic bag around his cast so it wouldn’t get wet, and left him alone after that.

Nothing good was on TV, so Stan only had it on for background noise as he looked through his phone.

There were even more messages from his dad, Kenny, and Ike. There were so many missed calls and texts that it was annoying. He didn’t read them at all. He just deleted them without looking.

Just as he was deleting yet another message from Ike, his phone started ringing in his hand. Stan could taste bile rise back in his mouth when he read that it was Kenny who was trying to call him.

He cast a look back to the bathroom, hoping that Kyle couldn’t hear the phone ring from the bathtub. It was unlikely that Kyle could hear a thing, but just to be sure, Stan turned up the TV extra loud before answering the call.

Kenny was rambling before Stan could get a single word out:

_ “Holy shit, you actually answered! Holy shit! Yes! Yes, yes yes! Is this Stan or Kyle? Is that you, Kylie-B? It probably is you, Kyle, ‘cause you were the one who answered a few hours ago. Hey, Kyle, we’re really worried. Can we go back to talking? I got to talk to you. So much has happened, dude, I-” _

There was a break in Kenny’s rambling, and then the phone passed over to someone else:

_ “Is he right? Is that you, Kyle?” _

Stan was immediately repulsed when he registered Ike Broflovski’s voice through the speaker. All possibilities of a relatively good conversation were already obstructed. By continuing this phone call, he was just setting himself up for disaster.

“Okay, I’m going to make this quick,” Stan spat through the speaker, “I know what you fucking did, Ike. You too, Kenny. I just wanted to tell you that it’s pointless trying to reach this number anymore. I’m going to block both of you.”

Kenny was quick to respond:

_ “Stan! Oh Jesus Christ I miss you! What are you talking about _ ,  _ dude? You said you were gonna call us later, but then you just didn’t. It was Kyle who picked up, not you. What’s going on? Where are you guys?” _

“I’m going to block your numbers.”

There was a beat of silence. Stan could hear Kenny and Ike arguing on the other side of the call, before there was a give-in, and Kenny came out on top.

_ “Dude, what the fuck is going on? Why would you block us? You said you were gonna let us call Kyle later and-” _

“-And you did. I will never make a mistake like that again. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?”

_ “Whaddya mean ‘done to him?’ Is he okay?” _

“No. He got all upset and he started shaking. His head’s all scrambled up, it’s like he’s really confused all over again.”

_ “Oh jeez.” _

The regret in Kenny’s voice was evident, but Stan refused to believe it.

_ “I’m sorry, man, I had no idea we did that to him. I mean, I could tell from the call that he was upset, but I didn’t-” _

“-So now you know. That’s enough. I’m not going to let him take any more of that from you guys,” Stan defended, “I’m blocking your numbers.”

_ “Wait, no! Stan, what about the deal we made? The four of us were gonna live together for a little while. We did our part of the bargain, now it’s your turn.” _

“I changed my mind.”

_ “Dude, you can’t do shit like that! Hold on a second!” _

There was the discrete sound of the phone shifting, before Ike’s voice rendered through the static:

_ “Marsh, don’t act like you’re innocent. Don’t act like you’re in charge of everything either. You know you’re going to lose. A few hours ago, Gerald-” _

“-I don’t want to hear anything that has to do with that man.”

_ “Listen, Marsh, Gerald filed a-” _

“-I’m blocking your numbers,” Stan said undauntedly. Only when he was absolutely sure he had their attention, he went on, “I only answered the call so I could let you know that your abuse hasn’t gone unnoticed. I know what the hell you’ve done to him. And in case either of you care about his wellbeing at all, rest assured, because I’m looking after him and he’s not going back home again.”

_ “Stan, wait! This doesn’t make any sense! You’re talking like we’re in some stupid horror film or something, you can’t just-” _

_ “-Marsh, you’re not going to get away with this. There are already people on their way to-” _

“-Good riddance,” Stan said, and then hung up. He blocked both of their numbers immediately after the call.

Surprisingly, he found that he was unaffected. Stan had thought that when he got rid of Ike and Kenny’s contacts for sure that he would feel proud, or at least relieved. He thought it would have felt at least slightly empowering.

Instead, he felt nothing at all. He was completely blank.

Looking at the alarm clock now, Stan realized with nervousness that it had been almost half an hour since Kyle started bathing, and he hadn’t heard any noises from the bathroom at all.

He couldn’t help but remember the tragedy that happened the last time he left Kyle alone in the bathroom, when he walked in to discover him unconscious on the floor.

“Kyle?” he called toward the bathroom, panic bubbling inside his gut, “You okay?”

_ “Fine,”  _ Kyle called back through the door.

Stan was only slightly mollified, “Do you need any help?”

_ “No. I know how to take a bath.” _

“Yeah, but, do you need anything? Anything at all?”

_ “Stan, please.” _

Stan was already up on his feet. He pulled the bathroom door aside and rushed in, asking; “Please what?”

Kyle immediately shrieked and pulled the shower curtain closed to block himself, “Dude, what the fuck?!”

“You said please, I thought you needed something!”

“I need to be alone!”

“Dude, why are you acting so weird?” Stan asked, addressing the shower curtain barrier, “We’ve literally seen each other naked like a dozen times.”

“When we were  _ five!” _

There was a jerk of movement in the shower curtain, but it didn’t pull aside. Splashing water sounds could be heard from the other side as Kyle exclaimed, “Wait, hold on. Stan, how did you even get in here?”

Stan blinked, “The door?”

“I locked it.”

“You locked the door?”

“Yes!”

Stan inspected the door handle, “Oh, well would you look at that. It’s broken.”

“What?”

“The door handle is broken. It doesn’t lock anymore.”

There was a shuddering quality in Kyle’s voice when he replied, “But I locked it when I came in here, it wasn’t broken. I swear it locked behind me. … Stan, how did you break the lock like that?”

“Kyle, are you sure you’re okay? I got a weird feeling. You’ve been in here a long time already, and, you know, with your foot, and your DKA, and your back, I’m sure you’re not feeling your best, right?”

“...I’ve definitely felt better.”

Stan clapped a hand to his forehead, “God, I just remembered! Your back! Goddamn it, I was supposed to let the doctors look at it!”

“It’s fine, Stan,” Kyle muttered from the other side of the shower curtain.

Even though Stan couldn’t see his face, he could easily pick on on the sadness emanating off of Kyle. The sadness wasn’t only in his voice; his misery seemed to fill the very room.

“Is it really fine?” Stan asked worriedly, “You know, I could check your back for you. It’s no big deal.”

Kyle responded a little too quickly, “No. No, it’s fine. Don’t.”

Stan was filled with unadulterated pity once more, “Oh, Kyle, it’s really not a big deal. I wanted to look at your back anyway, back at the farmhouse. Do you remember? Maybe not. You fainted after that, so I wasn’t really given the chance to.”

“But you don’t still want to check my back. Not anymore. Right?”

“No, I do.”

“...”

“Kyle?”

“...Don’t be mad at me.”

Stan got down on his knees on the bathroom floor, his heart racing. He kneeled despite the fact Kyle couldn’t see him at all.

“Kyle, why would I be mad at you?” he asked, kneeling on the floor.

Kyle splashed the water before answering, “...I don’t want to. I just want to be alone for a little bit.”

Stan felt a deep pang of worry, “And you thought I would be mad at you for wanting a little space?”

“Maybe?”

“Oh, Kyle,” Stan sighed, “I mean, it’s true bad things seem to happen when I leave you alone. Like at the farmhouse. And when you had the phone call. God, that happened only a few hours ago. It’s insane how time passes.”

Stan rubbed his hands through his hair as he knelt on the floor, “But I mean, as long as I know you’re okay, yeah, you’re allowed to have some space. But I still don’t see why you’d think I’d get mad at you. I don’t remember ever getting mad at you before.”

Kyle muttered something from behind the shower curtain.

“What did you say?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kyle murmured, before producing more splashing noises.

Stan bit his lower lip. Kyle was obviously distressed, but Stan couldn’t help him, not while he was doing something as private as bathing.

“Well,” Stan started, moving to sit with his legs crossed on the floor, “I can let you alone for now. I wouldn’t mind giving you more time for a bath at all. I mean, after all the stuff you’ve been through, a good bath definitely-”

“-Good.”

Stan winced at the lifelessness in Kyle’s tone.

“Kyle?” he asked the shower curtain, “Can I just check your back later, then? Whenever you’re ready, that’s fine, as long as I get to check up on it again.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, I just remembered something else,” Stan said, nervousness kneading in his gut. He swore he could feel concern mounting with every passing second before he asked, “Would you let me check those bruises on your face, too?”

The shower curtain shuddered as Kyle made a weak cry from the other side.

“Kyle?” his heart lurched.

“Don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, but I want to be alone for right now...”

It felt like Stan was surrendering half of his soul when he simply stood up from the tiled floor and said, “Sure. Okay.”

He hesitated a moment longer before leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He found that the door handle was, in fact, broken. And it most certainly did not lock.

Stan tugged at his hair in concern; was Kyle’s confusion returning?

It was a disarming thought. But as Stan contemplated further, he had to admit with a heavy heart that it truly could be the case. For instance, just a few hours ago Kyle had been made a victim by Kenny and Ike on the phone so easily, so eerily easily. From what Stan had seen, Kyle had truly believed that he had lied to Stan in the past.

That idea was nothing short of delusional. He wasn’t exactly the goody-two-shoes type, but Kyle was an unyielding advocate for the truth and his beliefs. He did lie on occasion, he was human after all, but he would never lie to Stan, especially not about a topic that went against his personal beliefs.

What was even more concerning was when Kyle believed he wanted to go home. Why would Kyle ever be okay with returning home considering the presence of his father or his brother?

Stan grunted and leaned against the door in frustration.

He had two theories and he hated both of them. Either Kyle’s confusion was returning, or he was brainwashed.

Before Stan could contemplate any further, there was a knock at the door that broke him from his thoughts.

_ “This is the Laramie County Police Department,” _ a voice boomed from outside the hotel room.

Stan’s heart hopped into his throat, while his whole body went stiff.

_ “Hello? I know you’re in there. I have a few questions to ask concerning a stolen vehicle. Would you please open up with your hands visible?” _

As much as Stan wanted to just hide, he wasn’t stupid. He knew what he had to do.

With heavy, aching arms, he unlocked the door and pulled it aside, and then put his hands in the air where the officer could see them. He winced when the light from the hallway blinded him, and stepped back, his hands in the air.

When he was out of the light and could see clearly, he felt something tug in his chest when he saw the face of the officer.

The policeman was dressed in full uniform, a bulletproof vest visible beneath his blue long-sleeved shirt. In height and breadth, he was an intimidating man. Everything from the weapons on his belt to the shininess of his combat boots made Stan shrink back into himself.

But then something remarkable happened.

When the officer took in Stan’s presence, his jaw dropped. Not in shock, but in wonder. His eyes filled with life, his mouth smiling agape.

“Wait a minute,” the officer said in a completely complaisant way, “Aren’t you Stanley Marsh?”

“Um,” Stan balled his hands into fists nervously, “Yes sir.”

The officer laughed in delight, “I know you! I remember seeing all your stories on the news with my family! My son really looks up to you, Mr. Marsh.”

Stan didn’t know what was more exasperating: the fact that he was recognized, the fact that he had fans, the fact that a full-grown adult called him “mister,” or the fact that this police officer was acting all buddy-buddy and unprofessional as if everything was okay.

“Oh!” Stan exclaimed, “Uh. Yeah, uh, that’s- that’s me. Stanley Marsh.”

The officer stuck out his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. It really is.”

Stan didn’t shake his hand back. He couldn’t escape the feeling that something about this whole meeting was incredibly out of place.

“Uh. Isn’t there supposed to be more than one of you?” Stan asked, looking around the hallway with hesitation.

“My partner is currently at the location of the stolen vehicle,” the policeman explained. He cleared his throat and went on to business, “At least, it was  _ reported _ as stolen. When I arrived on site, I expected it had to be a forty-plus-year-old car crook or something. I’m definitely surprised to see you here, Mr. Marsh. It has to be some kind of mistake.”

Stan’s mouth went dry, “Car crook?”

“Well, the missing vehicle was reported back in Colorado. Some shanty town I don’t remember the name of. A patrol officer on the highway located a car that fit the report’s description, and tracked it to this hotel. The clerk said that the people in possession of the vehicle checked out this hotel room.”   
The police officer looked over Stan’s shoulders, “Is there an adult with you?”

“No, just my friend Kyle.”

“Where is he?”

“In the bath.”

“I apologize for interrupting,” the officer said. He put his hands on his hips as he contemplated aloud, “There’s got to be some kind of mistake. I have a difficult time believing you would steal a car, Mr. Marsh. Did your friend steal the vehicle?”

Apprehension flooded Stan’s chest at the thought of Kyle getting in trouble for something he didn’t do.

“No, sir, no,” Stan exclaimed breathily, “No, he didn’t. See, the car belongs to his dad. We were- I mean, I just borrowed it. His dad didn’t need it. I only borrowed it ‘cause my car broke down.”

The officer frowned, “So the vehicle belongs to the father of your friend?”

“Yes sir.”

“May I speak to him?”

As if on cue, just as the question ended, the bathroom door opened. Kyle stepped out dressed in those same green pajamas, his broken ankle still wrapped in a garbage bag, and his red hair wet and dripping. Upon seeing the policeman standing on the doorway, he froze like a deer in the headlights.

The police officer had a very similar response. The instant he made eye contact with the redhead, his mouth dropped again. Except this time, it wasn’t in reverence, it was in alarm.

“This is your friend?” the officer asked Stan, his eyes not leaving Kyle.

“Yes sir. My best friend in the world.”

The officer just shook his head, his features deeply overwhelmed with worry, “What’s happened to your  _ face? _ Are you alright, son?”

Kyle looked to Stan for the answer.

The two-way-radio on the officer’s belt gave a beep, and somebody talked from the other line. Stan couldn’t understand a word of what the person was saying, but the policeman seemed to understand perfectly.

“Yes, sir,” the officer replied, the telecommunicator close to his mouth, “Suspects are visible. Take note, two male minors. Give me a few more minutes, over.”   
The officer waved his hands in an authoritarian manner, “Okay, I feel like there are a lot of unknowns right now. Can one of you confirm for me that you are in the possession of that vehicle?”

“Well, yeah,” Stan said, feeling his heart quicken, “But his dad didn’t need it, not really. We were only borrowing it.”

“Alright, I’m going to have to take you down to the station for questioning,” the officer explained.

Despite the policeman’s ginger demeanour, Stan couldn’t help but become anxious.

“What?” he exclaimed. He grabbed onto Kyle’s arm for protection, “No, sir. We- We didn’t- I don’t see why we’re going to prison-”

“-No, no, no, Mr. Marsh,” the officer soothed, “I’m not taking you to prison. You’re not under arrest. I legally can’t detain minors who aren’t residents of this state. I’m just going to take you down to the station for some questions, and we’re going to call your parents and let them know everything, okay?”

“Our parents?” Stan shot a look at Kyle, but the redhead didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not in trouble just yet. There are a lot more variables that need to be questioned before we do anything. If you would please gather any essential items you want to take with you, I can go ahead and take you two down to the station with me.”

“But sir, I- No, we can’t call our parents, you don’t underst-”

“-Mr. Marsh, I really respect you, kid. I’d much rather have you comply. I really don’t want to use these,” the officer patted a pair of handcuffs resting in a pocket on his belt.

Kyle and Stan shared a look now.

“...Yes sir,” Stan muttered, answering for both himself and Kyle, “Let me just- Let me grab a few things.”

“Only essentials, please,” the officer mandated. He wavered between being confident and uncertain. It was clear he was doing his best to remain professional, but being both starstruck by Stan and slapped with pity for Kyle, he was notably less confident.

Stan patted Kyle’s arm, a wordless gesture to tell him to stay where he was, and then he went around the room collecting what he needed. He grabbed his phone, the car keys, Ana María’s wallet, and Kyle’s diabetic bag. He figured all the food bags wouldn’t be considered essential.

When he came back to the front door, the officer’s eyes narrowed when he saw Kyle’s diabetic bag.

“Is that heroin?” he asked suspiciously, eyeing the tubes and needles.

“No sir. My friend is diabetic,” Stan said, feeling nothing but his heart crashing against his ribs. He surrendered the bag over so the policeman could inspect it. When he was sure that he wasn’t holding a bag of drugs, he handed it back to Stan.

“Do you kids need coats before we leave? It’s cold outside.”

Stan was about to say yes, but then he remembered the bag of sleeping pills still tucked away in his coat pocket. He was already in enough trouble, it seemed; he probably didn’t need any more reasons for them to be suspicious.

“We don’t have coats,” Stan decided on saying.

The officer frowned, his worry for the two boys written all over his face.

“Okay,” the policeman said, clearing his throat again, “Let’s go.”

Without asking permission first, Stan scooped Kyle up onto his back. If Kyle was startled at all, he didn’t display any signs of it. He let himself be carried down the hotel hallway, his wet hair dripping with bathwater down Stan’s back.

The officer walked alongside the two of them, speaking into his radio and keeping a close eye on them all the way.

When they finally made it outside, Stan was horrified to see that the officer was right. There was a second policeman investigating Gerald Broflovski’s car. He stood by it, taking notes on a notepad and pictures with a camera. He looked up at their approach, and addressed his partner.

The two officers spoke to each other in code, while Stan and Kyle were escorted to the backseat of a police car. It was terrifying beyond words. Even when the car doors were closed around them, rendering the teens alone together in the vehicle, Stan was nothing short of dismayed.

The back of the police car was polished, and the scent stung angrily at Stan’s nostrils. The doors were sound-proofed and the windows were tinted, so there was no telling at all what the officers were discussing just outside. The space was claustrophobic and frightening, it made Stan feel numb.

It didn’t help that Kyle seemed to be afraid, too.

Kyle was looking at the officers through the window wordlessly, when he grabbed onto Stan’s hand for comfort.

Stan felt an immediate lull.

If Stan was this scared already, how terrified must Kyle be after everything he’s been through? On top of all of his fears, Stan felt an overwhelming strike of mercy. Taking in the ghastly sight of the bruises on Kyle’s face, he felt his chest ache for his super best friend.

This situation reminded him of the drive to the clinic, when Kyle was so weak and confused that Stan had to force himself to be the strong one. He turned himself into Kyle’s anchor, and disciplined himself to be as composed and supportive as he possibly could to help him get through.

It seemed like Stan would have to do that again.

“You know what, Kyle?” Stan asked gently, “I thought of another reason why I’m grateful for football. That police guy is a fan, apparently. I think he’s going to go really easy on us.”

Stan rubbed his thumb in circles along Kyle’s hand in sympathy.

“It’s okay, Kyle. I’m not going to let them arrest us.”

Kyle just squeezed his hand tighter.

“You know, we could probably just tell them what your dad’s doing to you. And what your brother’s doing. Maybe CPS will arrest them and take them away, just like what happened to Ken’s parents.”

Stan watched Kyle’s throat twitch, as if he were swallowing a lump. But still, Kyle made no move to talk.

“And then when they’re arrested and out of the picture, you can come live with me,” Stan said, offering a smile, “Wouldn’t that be so much better?”

When Kyle still didn’t say anything, Stan had to bite down on his tongue so he wouldn’t snap at him. He forced himself to try to be as encouraging as he could, in spite of the frustration tugging at the back of his mind.

“It’s okay, Kyle. I’m not going to let them take you home.”

The officer opened the front door and called back over the seats, “Mr. Marsh? Are you in possession of the keys to the stolen vehicle?”

Stan surrendered the keys with shaking hands. He watched as the officer passed the keys on to his partner, and then got in the police car.

“Where’s he going with the keys?” Stan dared to ask, though he felt much less brave than he sounded.

“My partner will be driving the car to the station behind us,” the officer explained, starting up the engine.

He started to read the boys their rights in a very scripted manner, driving away from the hotel and down the main highway. Even while he was talking, he kept casting glances back at Stan and Kyle through the rearview mirror. Stan couldn’t tell at all what was going through the policeman’s head; he was doing his best to be professional, but it was clear that he was both confused and extremely on edge. He must have been in a very precarious mental state.

But Stan didn’t pity him. He couldn’t. The circumstance was way too tense.

Besides, Stan was busy devoting all the pity he could to Kyle, who was just sitting there, holding his hand, uttering nothing at all.

* * *

Even an hour or so after being detained in the police station, Kyle had yet to say anything.

Stan and Kyle had been sitting in chairs in an enclosed room with windows that pointed out to the hallway of the station, where they could clearly see several law enforcement officers and managers in debate. They had not been questioned yet; Kyle and Stan were just put in this room and told to sit down, and then left alone for more than an hour, like they were kids being dropped off in a playspace.

Even though the policemen were pretty much leaving them alone, Stan’s anxiety was only worsening. He could only compare it to riding the first big drop of a rollercoaster, when even though you’re going slow and steady, you know the big drop is coming, and that only makes you more nervous.

But like before, Stan did his best to be calm. He pretended he was wearing a heavy iron mask on his face, one that blocked all of his emotions. It helped a little bit, it at least engaged his imagination until an officer finally decided to come in.

He was heavy-set and mustached, and carried a notepad at his hip. He was sweating profusely, and he did not seem to want to be there at all.

Without even greeting Stan or Kyle, he sat down on a chair across from them and got his notepad ready.

“Names?” he ordered, not even looking up from the notepad.

Stan swallowed when he answered, “Stanley Marsh.”

“And his name?”

Stan nudged Kyle with his elbow, but he just hugged himself.

“What, is he pleading the fifth or something?”

The anger in the man’s tone made Stan nervous, “Well, uh, no.”

“He’s a mute, then?”

“No.”

“What’s your name kid?” the officer gargled in a raspy voice, leaning forward on his chair.

Kyle just sunk further into himself.

“Well, uh, he’s seventeen,” Stan defended, “He, um, he doesn’t have to answer anything without one of his parents in the room, right?”

“That would be called pleading the fifth.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Clearly,” the officer droned, red in the face, “If you want to wait ‘til your parents get here too, kid, let me know now, so I can have my coffee break.”

“No, no,” Stan shook his head, “My parents, I mean, I don’t think they-”

“-Both of your parents are on their way here as we speak. Why else do you think we waited so long to question you?”

Stan felt his throat tighten. He cast a side glance at Kyle.

“Both of our parents?”

“One parent each, I think. Kinda disrespectful of you two to drag them out of the state on a Sunday morning.”

“Do- Do you know who’s coming?” Stan pealed, “Like if it’s my dad or his dad, or our moms or something? Could you tell me that? It’s- um, It’s kind of important. I want to-”

The officer shot up a hand, “Kid. I want my coffee break. Just tell me if you’ll be waiting on your parents to answer questions or not.”

Stan felt something sink inside of him when he answered, “...not.”

The officer huffed angrily, but got his pen ready to write anyway, “Okay, let’s get this over with, then.”

The series of questions he asked were scripted, very scripted, and honestly, quite tedious. And they were simple to answer, too. Stan found that even by correctly answering each question, he wasn’t making himself out to be a criminal. The way the questions were designed, he could answer them any way he wanted, and still be perceived as innocent in the end.

No wonder so many people were able to trick the system over the years.

Kyle didn’t open his mouth once, not until another policeman opened the door, poked his head in, and said, “Your parents are here.”

Kyle lit up like a firework, “Really?”

Both Stan and the interrogation officer narrowed their attention to him, the officer in surprise, and Stan in slight anger at Kyle’s enthusiasm.

“They just arrived. Drove in together. We have a Mr. Randy Marsh and a Mrs. Sheila Broflovski.”

Stan was only slightly alleviated, not fully. But Kyle was nothing short of ecstatic.

“May I please see my mom?” he asked excitedly, looking like he was about to jump off the seat.

Stan grabbed at his arm firmly, “No, dude. We have to finish the interrogation.”

“Actually,” the interrogation officer said, looking down at his notepad, “I think we’ve got everything. Seems to me like this was all one big misunderstanding. Miscommunication between the driver and the kids. I’d say case closed-...”   
The officer stopped, and shot a look at Kyle from across the room, “-Unless the ginger has anything to add?”

Kyle stiffened and shook his head.

For the first time since he walked in the room, the heavy-set officer seemed satisfied. He almost smiled when he nodded his head and said, “Coffee break for me, then.”

He rose from the chair and addressed the younger officer who just came in, “Skipper, bring their folks in here to speak with them before they leave.”

“Yes sir,” the policeman replied, before holding the door open for the interrogation officer and following him out.

Stan watched them walk away through the wall of windows before they disappeared among the cubicles and other policemen bustling about in the station. Now it was just him and Kyle all alone in a room on display, like they were animals in a zoo to be observed. Luckily, no one really seemed to be paying any attention to them.

It was just now that Stan noticed he was still gripping Kyle’s arm.

“Oh,” he said, surprised, “Sorry.”

He let go of his arm, but Kyle didn’t seem to notice.

Stan hated to admit it, but Kyle looked really pathetic. He was still curled inward on himself, his eyes darting around quickly and his head lowered. His hair was still a little wet, and he still had that forsaken garbage bag tied around his broken ankle for God’s sake.

“Kyle, are you feeling okay?” Stan asked, moving to untie the bag from Kyle’s cast, “I haven’t seen you this remote since the farmhouse. Are you just nervous about having to face your Momzilla?”

Kyle shook his head.

When Stan untied the garbage bag from the cast, he removed it to see the little drawing he made a few days ago, and it brought a smile to his face. The two superheroes stood proudly side by side on the plastic cast, too cartoonish to be taken seriously, but still an ultimately endearing sight. Stan found himself snickering when he saw the heinous doodles left behind by Kenny and Cartman, too, finding a strange sort of humor in seeing Cartman’s doodle of a missile hitting their school, and Kenny’s of a cowboy riding an ostrich.

But Stan couldn’t help but frown when he couldn’t find where he wrote his name in big block letters.

“Didn’t I sign your cast?” Stan asked, “I swear I signed it right in the middle.”

Kyle looked guilty when he admitted, “I think the guys drew over it on accident. Sorry.”

“Assholes. I was the first to sign your cast for a  _ reason, _ they should know.”

“...sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s theirs. Why are you apologizing so much these days? It’s not like you have anything to be sorry for.”

“...”

“That wasn’t rhetorical, Kyle. I want to know why you’re always apologizing.”

Kyle blanched, “I-I don’t know. I just- I don’t know. I just don’t want you to be mad, I guess.”

“When have I ever gotten mad at you?”

“...”

“I’ll admit it, I get mad  _ sometimes. _ But I don’t remember ever getting mad at you personally. When have I ever gotten mad at you?”

Kyle absentmindedly raised a hand to the bruises on his face and winced at the touch.

Stan eyed the bruises suspiciously, “I swear I didn’t see those yesterday. Did I just miss it, or-?”

“Don’t worry about it, Stan.”

Something went rotten in Stan’s gut, “Oh wait. Wait a minute, if I didn’t see it yesterday, but Ike and Gerald weren’t anywhere near you yesterday… Oh God. Oh God, Kyle… Did you do that to yourself? Did you hurt yourself like that?”

Kyle looked Stan in the eye now, his bright green eyes wide with frantic confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but then bit down on his lip to hush himself.

The action only upset Stan more.

“Kyle, what the hell has gotten into you?” he charged now, “Why do you keep hiding from me?”

When Kyle refused to answer yet again, Stan swore he could feel something inside of him implode.

_ “Talk  _ to me,” Stan ordered, an indescribable feeling burning inside his gut, “Why are you hiding? You’re upset about going home, aren’t you?”

Kyle only shrunk further into himself when he replied in a whisper, “Sort of… I was just thinking about once we’re s-separated and you-”

“-Oh, Kyle,” Stan’s heart swelled, “Are you afraid about going home, and I won’t be there to protect you?”

“No...”

Stan had to do a double-take, “Um. No. No, Kyle, you’re confused.”

“I’m not confused,” Kyle said, gaze not leaving the wall, “I’m not scared of going home, despite what you may think. I’m just scared of us being separated… ‘cause, well, I’m sure you know.”

“Know what?”

“You know… how you act.”

“What do you mean? How do I act?”

Kyle sighed, but not in annoyance. He was already surrendering, so easily, just like that.

“Never mind, Stan, it doesn’t matter...”

“Yes, it matters, Kyle! Are you kidding me? I want to know what’s bothering you so I can stop it!”

“It’s not like you’re gonna listen to me.”

“But I will!”

“You never listen to me, Stan, you-”

“-Kyle!” Stan shrieked.

He grabbed the back of Kyle’s head to force him to look at him.

Kyle pulled back, but Stan kept his grip firm on the area between Kyle’s skull and his neck, keeping it locked inside his hands.

“Kyle! Fucking tell me what’s wrong, or so help me God, I will-!”

“-You’re gonna destroy yourself, Stan!” Kyle cried out. With his own hands, he tried to pry Stan’s off his neck area, but Stan’s hold did not break.

“What are you talking about?!”

“You already went berserk after I was alone in the bathtub for less than thirty minutes! You literally broke the lock of the bathroom door without realizing it! When we get home, we’ll be separated, probably for a long time, and that’s gonna make you do crazy,  _ scary  _ shit, you know.”

Stan felt like he was shot through the heart.

“Can you let go of me now?”

“Oh shit,” Stan whispered, his head starting to throb angrily, “We  _ are  _ gonna be separated, aren’t we...?”

“Stan, please let go of me. Your grip-- It’s getting kind of tight, Stan!”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry Kyle,” Stan murmured. The insistent pounding inside his head was making it difficult for him to think, and impossible to even  _ function.  _ It was just this horrible, angry throb in his head that he couldn’t escape, just like how he felt after concussions, but somehow this feeling was even  _ worse. _

“Stan, let go! I can’t-!”

“-God, I hate myself, Kyle, you know that? I really, really hate myself sometimes. I fucking promised you I was gonna keep you safe from going home. But we’re gonna-  _ Shit,  _ we’re gonna be separated. They’re gonna make me break that promise. God, I hate myself. I’m so sorry. I won’t be able to protect you once they separate us.”

“Stan, you’re  _ squeezing… _ ‘m seeing stars, Stan, I’m… Oh God, Stan-!”

“-Let’s leave. Let’s leave right now. Quick, before they-”

-The door swung open.

At the doorway stood Sheila, Randy, and the same police officer who met them at the hotel; but that wasn’t all. All around the room dozens of station workers, ranging from policemen to secretaries, were staring in through the windows. Every single one of them, the parents included, stared with their eyes wide open, almost in fear, at Stan with his hands around the base of Kyle’s skull.

“What the hell is going on in here?!”


	20. Chapter 20

Kyle was whimpering out mumbles in Stan’s grasp, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head. But it was entirely too difficult for Stan to understand what he was saying. All that he was aware of was their immediate need for escape.

“-Let’s leave. Let’s leave right now. Quick, before they-”

-The door swung open with a dramatic  _ thud. _

At the doorway stood Sheila, Randy, and the same police officer who met them at the hotel; but that wasn’t all. All around the room dozens of station workers, ranging from policemen to secretaries, were staring in through the windows. Every single one of them, the parents included, stared with their eyes wide open, almost in fear, at Stan as he held his hands around the base of Kyle’s skull.

“What the hell is going on in here?!” the officer exclaimed, posture defensive and eyes wide. The officer genuinely looked like he was about to pull out his gun.

Stan took his hands away from Kyle in a fraction of a second and shot up from the seat, “Hold on a second! He’s not-!”

-Catching Stan by an even greater surprise, he watched his dad throw an arm around the officer’s shoulders and laugh loudly.

“Can’t you see, officer?” Randy Marsh cackled with his head thrown back, “They were alone, he was holding his neck, they’re both blushing all over. By God, they were making out!”

“Randy!” Sheila Broflovski squealed, her face almost as red as her hair in indisputable anger, “That is not funny! These boys are in a lot of trouble!”

“Oh, I know!” Randy laughed, hands on his hips, “My son’s fucking grounded. He’s in for the punishment of his lifetime. Still though, I am not going to let this slide!”

The officer was floored from head to toe, his mouth hanging open. He looked in between the parents, the kids, and his coworkers for some kind of explanation, but everyone else seemed to be just as confused. The officers and managers who had been peering in through the windows started to back off one by one, apparently deciding that this was not their place. They continued to file out until it was just the parents, the kids, the interrogation officer and the cop from the hotel in the room.

The interrogation officer was as irritated as ever, “Is an explanation worth my time or can I just leave?”

Randy shook his head, “Nah, you can go. I got this under control.”

“Thank you for letting us know about our boys,” Sheila added.

The officer was pleased with that. He patted the younger policeman on the shoulder, “C’mon, Skipper. Time to let them be. Case closed.”

The young policeman was visibly disturbed. His hand was still nearing the weapon on his belt, and anxiousness was written all over his face.

“Sir, I don’t think we can just-”

“-Skipper. Case closed,” the interrogation officer said sternly.

It took a while, but the officer eventually let his hands drop to his sides. He was frowning uncomfortably, but he still tipped his hat to everyone in the room.

“Goodbye. Have a safe drive back to Colorado,” he said.

He let his gaze linger on Kyle for a moment longer, before he was dragged out of the room by the interrogation officer.

Now it was just the boys and their parents in the room; no one was even looking at them through the windows anymore.

But even though the stakes died down, Stan was still overwhelmed with steaming, seething feelings.

“Hold on, Dad, let me just-”

Randy put up his hand, “-Tell me in the car, son. I don’t want to waste another minute here before you make a pass at your best friend.”

“Randy! That is repulsive!” Sheila hissed. She was going into her Momzilla mode, and everyone could see it.

But Stan noticed that for some reason, Kyle didn’t seem to mind. He just looked happy to see his mom. That only upset Stan further.

“Calm down, woman,” Randy rolled his eyes, “Or don’t. Whatever suits you. I’m pretty pissed, myself. Our boys are grounded.”

_ “So  _ grounded,” Sheila agreed, hands on her hips, “Don’t you boys know we had to pay a one hundred dollar fine for you? Each?! What kind of selfish, disrespectful young men would do something as atrocious as-”   
-She softened immediately when she took in the sight of her first son, her lips parting in surprise.

“Bubby, what on earth happened to your face?!”

For a second Kyle looked confused. He raised a hand to his face, only to wince when he touched a bruise. He lowered his head, apparently remembering the ugly fingerprint-shaped bruises that consumed the sides of his face.

Stan bit his lower lip when he confessed, “I don’t really know where they came from, Ms. Sheila, they just sort of  _ appeared.  _ I think he did it to himself.”

“And you didn’t do anything to stop him?! I thought you were supposed to be super best friends!”

Stan wanted to curl up and die right there.

“Okay, that’s enough now,” Randy cocked his head towards Sheila, “It’s been a pleasure to see you, dear, but I’m gonna take my boy home now and ground him.”

“Same here,” Sheila grumbled, “I suppose I should thank you for the ride here.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Wasn’t your fault the boys ran off with your only car.”

“But Dad!” Stan cried, “You don’t understand, we can’t go ba-”

“-Don’t push me, son. Walk your keester to the car right now.”

“But Dad!”

“We can talk about this in the car, Stanley. I really don’t want to drag your ass in a debate while we’re in fuckin’ Wyoming.”

“Dad, listen to me! We can’t let Ky-”

“-I’ll lengthen your punishment time-”

“-That doesn’t matter to me! I’m trying to save my best friend, you don’t understa-”

“-Don’t you even know what your punishment  _ is,  _ Stanley?” Randy topped, “You’re grounded from hanging out with Kyle for a week, and I am very willing to lengthen that time!”

That finally shut Stan up.

Sheila and Kyle were both visibly embarrassed by Randy’s mood, but he didn’t care that he was being a disturbance at all. He just shook his head in disappointment at his son, who stood with his head lowered.

“Okay, bubby,” Sheila said gently, gathering her son in her arms, “Let’s drive home now. A very nice young man gave me your dad’s car keys.”

Stan watched, swallowing dryly, as Kyle went off in his mom’s arms. He seemed undaunted, carefree. He knew he was going back to a bad place, but he smiled anyway. Kyle was like a moth drawn to a flame.

He didn’t even look back at Stan before he left.

When it was just him and his dad left in the room, Stan clenched his fists nervously.

“Am I really not allowed to see Kyle for a week?” the words were a burden on his tongue.

Randy huffed, “I’ll leave that for your mom to decide. She should be coming home today.”

“Oh.”

For some reason, that didn’t make Stan feel any better.

“It’s about time we went home, too.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes. We do. You have school tomorrow.”

Stan scowled.

Randy stuck out his finger angrily, “Don’t give me that look! You’re already in trouble, do you really want to make it worse on yourself?”

“...No.”

“That’s what I thought,” Randy muttered. The anger in his eyes reminded Stan of all the times he came home drunk, all the times he couldn’t control his temper, and all the times he took things too far. They were unpleasant memories, and they made Stan feel sick to his stomach.

“There’s one more thing I got to say to you, son,” Randy said tersely.

“Do I even want to know?”

“My two years of sobriety went down the drain the night you ran away. I guess I can blame myself for this, since you’re taking after me, but you really hurt all the people you love. You know that, right?”

* * *

The drive home was tense. And that was an understatement. Stan felt like jumping out of the car and just running away on foot more times than he could count, but of course he didn’t actually do it. He didn’t want to risk fucking things up again.

His dad’s words about hurting the people he loves were ringing in his head, but Stan didn’t feel guilty.

It’s true. He didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. It wasn’t even a defense mechanism or anything like that. He just didn’t feel guilty.

Stan assumed this was mostly because he didn’t believe what Randy said. If his dad was drinking again, that meant he was probably just saying stupid things that he didn’t mean. Of course Stan knew the famous phrase “Drunk words are sober thoughts,” but he didn’t believe that either; after all the crazy shit Stan had spewed himself while he was drunk, he knew drunk words really meant nothing in actuality.

Nothing. Just like how he felt.

He felt nothing at all. Just like when he blocked Ike and Kenny’s numbers, he had thought he would feel something, but instead he remained unaffected.

He didn’t even feel anything when Randy said:

“I didn’t mean what I said about you ‘making a pass’ at Kyle, or whatever. I know you two aren’t gay for each other. I just felt like I needed to break tension back at the station. Lighten the mood a bit, you know?”

That was a little ironic, considering that the tension was  _ much _ higher now than back in the station. The car ride was making them antsy. The atmosphere was so thick it could probably be cut with a knife.

It didn’t help that Gerald Broflovski’s car was literally right in front of them. Seriously. Right in front of them. Through the windows, Stan could clearly see the bright red hair of Kyle and his mother as they rode along in the car talking to each other.

His super best friend was riding in a hearse. Not in a literal sense, of course, but metaphorically. Kyle was riding along in a death cab, approaching his own funeral as they drove on.

Stan’s worst fear was coming true. Kyle was going home to his alcoholic dad, his creep of a brother, and now Momzilla, too. And there was absolutely nothing Stan could do about it.

“I want to ram into that car,” Stan accidentally said aloud.

“What’s that now, Stanley?”

“I don’t want to kill them or anything. I just want to ram into their car.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I don’t mean to be funny. I want to ram into their car and break it so they can’t go home.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’ll leave Sheila there on the side of the road, take Kyle and leave the state again.”

Stan expected his dad to laugh, but Randy just shot his son a sideways look.

“I thought your depression was getting better, son,” he said as he drove. Stan couldn’t read if he was angry or concerned.

Stan just shrugged, “It is.”

“You’re sure?”

“I mean, my doctors said so.”

“How do  _ you _ feel?”

“That’s a big question, Dad.”

“Is it?”

“It is for me. I don’t know. I don’t think I could answer it in a single sentence.”

Randy scratched his mustache in contemplation, “I think you need to go to therapy again.”

“Why?”

“You know why. You don’t need me to answer that question.”

Stan wrapped his arms around himself and looked out the car window. He tried to focus on the snow-laden trees flying by, but all he could think about was the car in front of him. Or more specifically, the one special person who was in the car in front of him.

“I don’t know,” Stan sighed, “I don’t know. I’m just…  _ processing _ a lot right now.”

“Oh, okay, great, that clears everything up,” Randy snorted, “You’re  _ processing  _ things. Riiight. That’s why you took your best friend and ran away in his dad’s car without telling anybody where you were going or when you would be back.”

“He’s being abused,” Stan said softly as his dad drove. He had the thought running through his head for days now, but it still felt awful to say it out loud.

Randy raised an eyebrow, “He is? By who?”

“His family,” Stan said guiltily. It made him feel ashamed to disclose something so personal without Kyle’s knowledge or consent, but his dad needed to know.

Randy was silent for a moment before asking, “Is that where those awful bruises on his face came from?”

“No…”

“No?”

“No. I think he did that to himself. He’s going through a lot right now.”

Randy drove on wordlessly for a while. He switched to the next lane and sped up so that they were now driving directly beside the Broflovskis. By looking out the window, Stan could see Kyle and his mom in deep conversation. Sheila was doing most of the talking, while Kyle listened on intently.

Stan tried waving through the window, but neither Kyle nor his mom saw a thing.

“I don’t believe it,” Randy said.

Stan’s veins went cold, “What?”

“That kid’s not being abused. There’s no way in hell. We’ve known that family for years. We would have picked up on something. His family’s too good.”

Stan cringed at the very words.

“Besides,” Randy went on, “‘member what the two of us were talking about the other day? Maybe something just happened to him once, and that’s why he’s having trouble with doctors and getting over his lil’ injury. He’ll heal up. He’s a fighter. He’s just been through shit, I guess.”

Stan’s fists were clenching and unclenching uncontrollably.

“Do I really have to stay away from Kyle for a week?”

“It might be for the best. He’s sort of a bad influence on you.”

“What?!” Stan exclaimed, outraged, “How could you say that?! He’s not a bad influence on me! It’s not his fault any of this stuff happened! He’s a good kid!”

“He  _ is _ a good kid. I just think he makes you a little…” Randy circled his ear with his finger and whistled, the universal gesture for ‘cookoo.’

“You think he makes me crazy?”

“Not intentionally,” Randy shrugged, “But yeah. I do.”

“Dad, you said it yourself, he’s  _ good,”  _ Stan urged, “He would never do anything to me. And I’m not crazy.”

“Don’t you remember the first time you came home drunk, Stanley?”

The sentence caught the quarterback completely by surprise. He actually felt himself jump in his seat.

“Where is this coming from?”

“I thought it had been because of me,” Randy sighted, stroking his mustache, “You were fourteen years old and you were so blubbering drunk you couldn’t walk four steps without falling on your face. I swore it was my fault. I thought my bad habits rubbed off on you. It wasn’t until later when you were feeling better that you told me the reason why you  _ purposefully _ got drunk in the first place.”

“Dad-”

“-It was because you thought you failed Kyle as a friend.”

“You can stop talking now-”

“-And why did you think you failed Kyle as a friend?”

“Dad, stop it.”

“No, go ahead, Stanley,” Randy charged, “Go ahead and tell me why you thought you failed Kyle as a friend.”

“...”

“...”

“Because I accidentally made him break his science project,” Stan confessed, “I wasn’t paying attention, and I bumped into him, and he fell down and he dropped the project. It broke.”

“Mhm,” Randy shook his head, huffing in annoyance, “Don’t you think that’s overreacting at least a little bit?”

“Not really,” Stan mumbled, “He worked really, really hard on that thing. He wanted to win first place at the science fair. He was so going to get it, too. I know he was. But then I just fucked it up for him.”

“But you thought that a broken piece of cardboard and paper diagrams was worthy of getting yourself drunk at fourteen years old?”

“He scraped his knee when he fell down! I wasn’t fast enough to catch him. I felt so bad. I ruined everything for him.”

“Oh boo hoo,” Randy rolled his eyes. He turned up the radio extremely loud, an obvious sign that Stan should shut up before he upset his father any further.

But Stan still had one more card to pull. It was a weak one, but it could definitely be convincing.

“Dad,” he said, looking him in the eye, “I know you want to ground me and all, but I haven’t gone a single day without seeing Kyle in seventeen years.”

“I know.”

“That’s since we were babies.”

“...I know.”

“Don’t you think it’ll be hard for me?” Stan pressed, “And hard for him, too? I’m just cringing at the thought already, I don’t even know what I would do with myself.”

Randy just turned up the radio louder, saying, “Talk to your mother about it. I’m done trying to make sense of you, son.”

* * *

As it turns out, Sharon Marsh didn’t return home until past midnight.

Stan had spent those several hours asleep on his bed, which was a fact that upset him. He had wanted to stay up all night long in case Kyle texted him. He was full of so much angst and energy during the car ride that he expected he would be able to pull an all-nighter, and that he would be bouncing off the walls when he got home.

Instead, the minute Stan arrived home, his dad put a sandwich in front of him and left him alone. It was just one sandwich, but it was the only food he had eaten in a long time, and it immediately put him into a food coma. He trudged upstairs and passed out on his bed, still dressed in his old clothes, shoes on his feet, and phone in his hand.

He woke up sixteen minutes after midnight, when he heard his parents talking downstairs.

He didn’t bother eavesdropping. He stripped himself of his shoes, jumped out of his clothes and hopped into his pajamas before his mom could see him. He lay his phone on his nightstand and scrambled to get back under the sheets before she walked in.

Sharon Marsh was tired and aged, but she smiled when she opened the door to see Stan messing around on the bed like a fool.

“Sleeping well?” she asked bemusedly.

Stan couldn’t help but blush, “I was. Then I just woke up, I guess.”

She walked around his room a bit, inspecting it like only a mother would. She wrinkled her nose when she approached the laundry bin, but didn’t say anything.

Sharon sat down on his bed lightly, and Stan moved to make room.

“Hi, mom,” he said.

“Hello, Stan,” she ruffled his hair, “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” he didn’t say it out loud, but he really missed these hair ruffles, “How’s Shelley?”

“She’s doing really well in school. And she’s popular, believe it or not.”

“Huh. Who knew.”

Sharon just rolled her eyes, “Be nice to your sister. She misses you, you know.”

“She does? I thought she wanted me dead.”

“She didn’t say it, but I could tell. She misses you,” Sharon stopped ruffling his hair now and put her hand on his, “I missed you, too. I’m glad to be home.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re home, too.”

Sharon looked at him sweetly, switching her gaze in between both of his eyes. She went on doting on him and holding his hand before she took a breath and said, “So your father told me a lot of crazy things.”

“You know him.”

“I do know him. That’s why I think I’d like to hear the story from your perspective. Would you tell me?”

Stan rubbed his eye, “Do I have to? It’s late, and it’s been a really long past few days.”

“I mean, I’d really like to know,” Sharon said softly, weak in her tone, “But if you’re not up to it, I suppose I understand. We could always talk about it in the morning.”

With a heavy sigh, Stan stared at the clock on his phone screen, “It  _ is  _ the morning.”

Sharon was quiet before she asked, “Stanley, why did you steal a car and go to Wyoming?”

“I didn’t steal a car, first of all,” Stan grumbled, repositioning himself in the bed, “My car died on the side of the road, I don’t know if Dad told you that. But I needed to take Kyle away from his house so I borrowed Mr. Gerald’s car and left.”

“Why did you have to take him out of the house? Your dad told me he had a broken foot.”

“A broken ankle, yeah, he was hit by a bus. And I needed to get him out of there. He’s being abused, Mom.”

Sharon soft-pedaled in a second. She squeezed Stan’s hand tighter before pursuing further; “Kyle’s being abused?”

“By his family, yeah.”

“Well… I always knew his mom had a scary temper, but I never-”

“-I don’t think it’s his mom. Might be. I don’t know. I hope not. But right now it’s just his dad and his brother.”

“Gerald always seemed too… remote to be involved with his family,” Sharon contemplated aloud, “From my perspective, at least. And, isn’t his brother still a kid?”

“Yeah, but he has the mentality of an adult. He’s a certified genius. He has resources. Also, he’s just a lot bigger than Kyle.”

“Stanley,” Sharon was struggling to keep her composure, “That- This is a very serious accusation you’re making.”

“Are you saying you don’t believe me, either?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that this isn’t something we can take lightly,” she furrowed her brow, “Are you sure, Stanley? We’ve known them for so many years…”

“I’m positive. There’s no doubt in my mind, Mom.”

Sharon was visibly disturbed. Even in the darkness of Stan’s room, he could see her discomfort clearly.

That’s why it caught Stan by surprise when she said:

“Okay…”

His heart skipped a beat, “Okay? Really? You believe me?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, deep in thought, “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions without knowing anything. Do you have any proof?”

“Proof?”

Something wicked churned in Stan’s gut when he realized he didn’t have one solitary scrap of proof.

That morning with drunk Gerald in the kitchen, and the way he put his hands on Kyle’s shoulders; that wasn’t proof. Stan had left before anything bad happened because he was told to leave. Ike’s bag of smuggled sleeping pills was back at the hotel in Laramie. The only injuries Kyle had were from the bus accident and the ones on his face.

Stan lowered his head, “No. I don’t.”

Whatever glint of belief Sharon had for Stan’s case, it died right then and there. Stan knew just from the mere look his mom gave him that she stopped believing.

It deeply angered him when she went on speaking motherly, like everything was okay.

“Well, Stanley, that was a very chivalrous thing to do for him,” Sharon praised softly, “I’m glad you care about your friend so much, I really am. It makes me proud that you want to take such good care of him. You’ll make a fine husband and father one day.”

“Mom, why don’t you believe me?”

“I’m not saying that,” Sharon said; though she was absolutely saying that with her eyes.

She stroked his hair lightly, motherly, and Stan started to grow irritated.

“Stan, let’s just be on the lookout for now, okay? Let’s not jump to any conclusions from now on.”

“So I’m supposed to sit idly by and not do anything?”

“Not steal a car again, that’s for sure.”

“Mom. I hate this.”

Sharon pulled her hand away, “Just look out for him. From a distance. I know with his broken foot-”

“-Ankle-”

“-that he’s probably not going to go to school for a few more days-”

“-And he got real sick.”

“What?”

“He got real sick. He got diabetic keto-... keto-all... God, what was it called?”

“Not diabetic ketoacidosis, I hope?”

“Yeah that. He got that. He got real, real sick.”

She took a breath, “That is a very,  _ very  _ terrible disease, Stan. It’s just awful. Surely he didn’t-”

“-He did. I was there,” Stan shuddered at the memory, “I think he’s really bad at taking care of himself in general so his health was bound to worsen eventually. But it still really,  _ really  _ sucks, Mom. With both his sickness and his family life at home, I do my best to take care of him, but it’s like everybody wants me to stop.”

“Well...” Sharon started, noticeably saddened, “Okay. This is all very, very unfortunate. I feel sorry for him. I really do. I think you should continue to take care of him, Stan, but don’t jump into anything. I know he probably won’t be at school for a few more days, so for now, try sitting back and just looking out for Kyle until you have any proof, okay? Then we can pick up this conversation again.”

Stan rolled his eyes and flopped back down on his pillow, “Let me get this straight. You want me to just  _ watch _ my super best friend? Even though he needs my help. You just want me to sit back and watch.”

“Until you have proof, yes. You might surprise yourself; you might not even get proof of abuse.”

“Mom. I  _ hate  _ this.”

“You know the law,” she said tersely, her agitation beginning to reveal itself, “Innocent until  _ proven _ guilty.”

“...Fine.”

“Good,” Sharon said, though from the look in her eyes, Stan could tell that she wasn’t exactly satisfied. She was starting to get irritated too, and Stan could see it.

He turned over on his pillow, “Mom, do I really have to go a week without seeing Kyle? Can’t you just take my phone or driving privileges away?”

“It’s just for a week.”

“But we haven’t been apart one day in our entire lives… Not one day. Not even when we moved to Tegridy Farms, I still saw him at school and on the weekends.”

“Exactly why you need to get away from him for a while. If I didn’t spend some time away from your father every once in a while, I would have filed for divorce years ago.”

“But Mom,” Stan felt like crying, “I really,  _ really _ hate this.”

“Well, I hate it when your father drinks, but you don’t see me complaining,” Sharon snapped.

Stan winced at her sharpness, “Did- Did he really-?”

“-Start drinking again? Yes, I believe he did.”

“It’s not-... I-Is it my fault, Mom?”

“No, sweetie, no,” Sharon soothed. She laid down on the bed next to her son and rested her head on his shoulder.

It was embarrassing, Stan had to admit, but it was so comforting. So Stan leaned into the embrace. It would be humiliating to say out loud, but Stan really did miss his mom while she was away.

“It’s his own fault,” Sharon went on, playing with Stan’s hair, “He was upset and just didn’t deal with it properly. He should have known better.”

Stan sniffed, “Yeah. I guess.”

“Hey, Stan?”

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Your dad said something about going back to therapy again.”

Stan could tell that his mom was trying to look him in the eye, but he pretended not to notice. He stared at the overhead popcorn ceiling and tried to count all the ridges.

“Yeah,” he whispered in the dark, “He said I should.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know, there’s no shame in going back for a few more sessions. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know, Mom, I know, I just-” Stan took her fingers out of his hair and squeezed them in comfort, “I don’t think it’s what’s best for me.”

“Why not?” her hazel eyes were wide open with compassion. Stan could tell that she was eating up every word of what he was saying.

“I just can’t focus on  _ me _ right now… Does that make sense? I just- I’m not in the position where I want to worry about myself. Just not right now. Therapy might be good later, but I just- For now, I-”

He broke off. He couldn’t find the words to express what he wanted.

But Sharon seemed to understand, “You want to worry about  _ Kyle _ right now, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I mean, I’m fine now. Really. I’m okay. I just want to fix this situation with him first, then go back to working on myself.”

“That’s-” Sharon took a shaky breath, “That’s very sweet, but it’s not wise.”

“You do it all the time,” Stan said.   
He knew it would get her where it hurts, but he needed to say it.   
“Mom, you were unhappy for so many years. You’re probably still unhappy now, but you just don’t show it. You always put me and Shelley first, and you let Dad get away with things to make him happy. I hardly ever see you do anything for yourself.”

Sharon took her fingers out of her son’s hand and stood up from the bed. Without facing him, she said, “I’ll ask you again in a week if you want to go back to therapy. Until then, just think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Sharon whispered. She softened when she turned around and bent down to kiss his forehead, “Goodnight, Stan.”

“‘night Mom.”

“You are going to school tomorrow,” she instructed as she started to leave his bedroom.

Stan pulled his pillow over his face, “Yes, I’m painfully aware.”

She bit her lip. She almost looked nervous when she bid him good-night again. This time, Stan didn’t respond. So she left.

Stan didn’t fall asleep right away. He didn’t want to sleep, so he stayed awake watching music videos on his phone for a few hours. By the time he was done, it was around three in the morning.

Kyle had yet to send him a single text, and that made awful thoughts pray on his mind. He had no idea what kind of punishment Sheila intended when she said she was grounding her son, but something told Stan it was worse than troubling. Just thinking about all the heinous possibilities of what could be happening to him put Stan in agony.

It was terrible, but Stan realized he never once asked about what happened when Kyle got in trouble before.

When they were younger, he used to get in trouble all the time, not because he was a bad kid (really, he was the best behaved out of all of them), but because his parents were extremely strict. Kyle was punished often, but for some reason that never raised alarm bells for Stan before. He never thought to ask about it.

He recalled the night of the valedictorian announcement, when Kyle was crying in the bathroom. He said he was going to get in trouble. For being the second smartest student in their entire graduating class, he was going to get in trouble. He was so afraid that he started crying.

And yet, Stan was still never privy to Kyle’s troubles. He never took a hint.

Now Stan was overwhelmed with guilt.

His head started spinning with worry when he realized that Kyle still had not texted him anything. This was not okay. This was agonizing.

Stan had to go check on him.

He got up from the bed, still dressed in pajamas and barefoot, and ran down the stairs like a shot. He was nearly floored when he saw his parents, both of them, seated on the couch in the front living room watching TV.

“Where do you think you’re going, Stanley?”

Stan blinked, “Kyle.”

“Uh huh,” Randy rolled his eyes. He wasn’t only annoyed, though. Raw anger was fuming off of his entire body.

“Wha- What are you guys doing awake?”

“We thought you might run off. Son of a bitch.”

Stan swallowed. His body was completely still, but his mind was spinning too quickly for him to understand his own thoughts. The adrenaline shooting through his veins was making him uneasy.

Sharon frowned, looking her son up and down, “Go back to bed.”

“Mom, please.”

“You have school tomorrow. Go back to bed.”

“Don’t try jumping out the windows either, Stanley,” Randy added, “I got a new lock thing installed while you were gone yesterday.”

“Dad-”

“-I’m done with you, son. Go back to bed.”

Stan did. But he didn’t sleep a wink. His stomach was full of knots and his mind was full of godforsaken thoughts of whatever hell Kyle could be going through. He stayed on his phone the entire night until morning, shooting texts of concern to Kyle constantly, even though he didn’t get a single one back.

He even made the risky move of unblocking Ike and Kenny, but they didn’t respond to anything he had to say either.

By the time his phone finally gave in from all its efforts and died, the sun was already shining through his windows.

It was Monday morning. He had to go to school. This was going to be the first day in his entire life that he wasn’t going to see his super best friend.

It took his dad two years to relapse from his estrangement with alcohol.

How long-- or how  _ short-  _ would it take for Stan to break from his separation with Kyle?


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness. We are almost to 1000 hits, and almost to 50 reviews!  
> This is the biggest story I've ever written for South Park! It may not sound like much of an accomplishment, but it is for me :) So thank you for all the people still reading!

For Stan, going back to school felt like walking through a graveyard. He didn’t want to be there. Everything was dark and daunting. He couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching fears of everything he was leaving behind. It even felt like brainless zombies were following him as he walked down the long corridors.

After his football stardom made the high school famous a few years ago, he accidentally became popular amongst his peers. In truth, he was already well-known from his childhood. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew Stan because he hung out with the infamous Eric Cartman. But ever since he became the star quarterback, the entire school population absolutely revered him. And that made today all the more difficult.

He should be grateful for all the attention and respect. At times, it was certainly nice to have so many people dote on him. But today, it felt like he was being swarmed by lifeless corpses.

“Hi, Stan!” some girl cheered as they passed down the hall.

Stan just sucked his teeth.

He had tried to run away to Kyle’s house this morning. But his parents stopped him, of course.

They didn’t even put him on the bus. They drove him to school, like he was a little kid who needed protection, and didn’t leave until they were sure he entered the building. So he was stuck here, while Kyle was still sick at his house.

“Holy shit, Stan the man!” Clyde showed up out of nowhere, throwing an arm around his shoulders, “Where’ve you been, dude? Gym class has been so boring without you!”

Stan didn’t even try to hide his disquietude.

“Things have sucked lately,” he grumbled as they walked down the hall together.

“Preach, preach,” Clyde said. With a hint of concern in his tone, he added, “Hey, can I do anything for you, man? The football guys and I 've been worried about you.”

“Really?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s normal for you to skip school sometimes. I get that. But, like, missing football practice? Not answering anyone’s messages? You all good, man?”

Stan just sighed. He liked Clyde enough as a friend. He was a little slow (but who was Stan to judge? He was quite slow, himself), but his heart was in the right place. Clyde was also tall and well-built, which was why he landed a linebacker position on the football team.

Stan trusted Clyde and all, but he didn’t feel like lamenting all of his problems just yet. He was too pissed off and uptight to break down so early in the morning.

“I don’t know,” Stan grumbled, “I think I’m fine. Things have been shitty though.”

“I get it. Is there anything me or one of the guys can do to help?”

“Gee, I don’t know. Could you put me in a box and ship me to Kyle’s house without letting anybody’s parents know?”

Clyde stopped walking, but Stan didn’t notice right away. He went on walking down the hall before he realized, and ran back to the linebacker’s side.

“Dude, you realize that Kyle’s here today, right?” Clyde asked.

Stan swore he felt a firework go off inside of him.

“He is? His- But his broken ankle, and he was sick, and-”

“No yeah, we all know about the bus accident, dude. I think everyone else involved is still at home recovering, but you know how Kyle doesn’t like taking sick days. I literally just saw him at his locker. He might still be there, actually.”

Stan was too stunned to move an inch, so he stood there like an idiot in the middle of the hallway while people bustled around him.

“Seriously?!”

“Uh, yeah, man. Seriously. Just saw him. Like three seconds ago,” Clyde was noticeably a little bewildered by Stan’s reaction.

“Clyde Donovan, you are relieved from running laps for a full week!” Stan praised, so excited he could barely stand still.

“Aw,  _ yes!  _ Thanks, man! I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah, for sure! See you around!” Stan was bubbling with excitement so quickly he felt like he was going to explode into little pieces.

When he and Clyde parted ways, Stan made a beeline for Kyle’s locker. His pace was getting faster and faster with each passing second, and his heart was like a battering ram against his ribcage. It was no longer like he was walking through a graveyard, but like he was running through carnival grounds.

He thought he heard some teacher telling him to slow down or something or other, but he just brushed it aside.

His excitement didn’t even slow when he did come across Kyle, who was standing at his locker. If anything, Stan’s excitement multiplied.

Kyle almost looked like himself.

He stood on crutches, his casted foot raised in the air precariously. He was wearing his trademark green ushanka, and was dressed in his favorite orange coat. The bruises on his face were so much fainter than they were yesterday, it was astounding how quickly they were disappearing.

It warmed Stan’s heart to see his best friend doing okay; even after everything they had been through in the past few days, it seemed like everything was going back to normal.

Kyle was occupied with rearranging his books, so he didn’t notice Stan’s presence until he greeted:

“Hey, Kyle!”

Kyle dropped one of his crutches.

Stan was quick to pick it up and hand it back, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s so good to see you! I had no idea you were going to be at school today!”

Kyle was hesitant when he looked up to meet Stan’s gaze. Extremely hesitant. He watched Stan with wide open eyes, his expression unreadable.

He was tentative when he took the crutch back, “Yeah, um. I didn’t know you would be at school either.”

Stan was probably gushing like an idiot at this point, but he couldn’t help it. After all his anxiousness that had been building up for hours and hours, this kind of relief was nothing short of heavenly. This was the ultimate catharsis he needed: to see that Kyle was alive and well.

“I missed you,” Stan said smiling.

Kyle just bit his lip, “You saw me yesterday.”

“I was worried I wasn’t gonna see you for a while. I’m not allowed to visit you at home for a week, and I thought you wouldn’t be at school. I didn’t know what was gonna happen to you at home. I don’t know what they did to you, or how they punished you… Are you okay?”

Kyle shrugged awkwardly, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Well. Um. Better than yesterday.”

“I’m so glad to hear that, dude, I was so worried. I’m so glad you’re doing better.”

“Thanks.”

“And your face looks so much better, too!” Stan praised, “It’s only been a day and I can hardly see a single bruise.”

“Oh,” Kyle looked embarrassed when he admitted, “Um, that’s foundation.”

“What?”

“My mom’s foundation. It’s a kind of makeup that covers up blemishes. I don’t really know that much about makeup, but mom put this on my face to-- well, you know. Make me less ugly, I guess,” Kyle answered haphazardly. At this point, he was avoiding eye contact completely, and he started to arrange and rearrange the books in his locker.

Stan’s ears picked up, “Ugly? That’s awful! Why would she say you’re ugly? You’re not ugly.”

“She never said I was ugly. Just the-” Kyle stuttered over the word, “Just the b-bruises.”

Stan frowned. He took Kyle’s face in his hands to inspect it.

Kyle flinched at the touch, his entire body going stiff. But he made no move to pull away.

Stan studied Kyle’s face in his grasp until he concluded; “They look fine to me.”

“Because they’re covered in makeup,” Kyle said. He spoke so softly that his voice was barely above a whisper. Immediately Stan knew that something was wrong.

“What’s the matter, Kyle?” he asked. He took his hands away from Kyle’s face. Something about Kyle’s timid body language and his concise language made nasty concern crawl around inside his gut.

“Kyle, why didn’t you answer any of my texts last night? You always answer my texts. I sent like a thousand of them for hours straight. Why didn’t you answer any of them?”

“Got my phone taken away.”

“Please tell me that was all your punishment was, and that they didn’t do anything worse to you. They didn’t hurt you again, did they?”

Kyle just went back to arranging and rearranging the books in his locker, acting as if he didn’t hear Stan’s question.

That only made him more worried.

Stan moved to embrace him, but Kyle flinched and backed away. 

Stan’s gut was writhing in worry, “Kyle?”

“Stan, I just- I just don’t want to talk right now. Or be touched,” Kyle said, bracing himself with his crutches, “I’m still not really feeling well. I feel really sick, actually, and I don’t think you- Well-- Stan, you—…”

Kyle shut himself up and stared at the worn tiled floor. 

This wasn’t right. Everything was supposed to feel at least a little bit normal now that they were back in school together, but Kyle wasn’t acting like himself at all.

“What about me?”

Kyle lightly touched the base of his skull, as if in some kind of trance-like memory.

“What about me?” Stan pleaded again.

Kyle just kept holding that area between his head and neck and staring at the floor, but saying nothing.

“They must have done something really bad to you, huh?” Stan pondered aloud, “You’re so quiet. It’s not like you to be so quiet. Are you okay, Kyle? What did they do to you at home?”

“Marsh, what are you doing to my brother?”

The feeling of nighttime graveyards once again entered Stan’s mind when Ike Broflovski approached them in the hallway. He was dressed in tediously nice clothing, and had an evilly smug look on his face when he stood eye-to-eye with Stan.

“Haven’t you had enough your sadistic fill torturing him? Let him alone, he’s not feeling well,” Ike ordered.

Stan stepped forward defensively, “What’re you doing here, Ike? This is the upperclassman hallway.”

“In case you forgot, I’m a senior now. I skipped a grade again. I am officially part of your graduating class, so you’ll just have to tolerate my presence, won’t you?” 

Ike knocked one of Kyle’s crutches with his fist, “C’mon. I’ll walk you to class.”

“Hey, step off!” Stan exclaimed, “Leave him alone, Ike! I know what you’ve done to him.”

“Oh, please. Any actions I’ve taken barely hold a candle to what you’ve done, and I don’t even know the whole story.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Kyle has refused to tell us anything you did to him while he was in your captivity. Though that infuriates me more than I’d like to admit, I don’t need to know exactly what happened. I have a few theories. And believe me,” Ike gave him a cold, dead look, one that pierced Stan right in the soul, “My theories are never far off from the truth.”

Being in a high school environment, it wasn’t surprising that a crowd was already gathering. Everyone passing through the halls from Stan’s football teammates, to his childhood friends, and to girls he hasn’t spoken to in years, gathered around them to watch. It didn’t make Stan feel any better that he recognized every single face in the crowd. Even Wendy Testaburger was looking at him with sympathy.

Taking in the sight of the crowd, Kyle backed up into the lockers uncomfortably, keeping his head low. But the attention only seemed to make Ike more confident. So Stan stepped up his game and pushed himself to be more defiant.

“What, is that supposed to scare me? That you have a theory? You should be the one who’s scared, Ike. Don’t forget who gave you that shiner,” Stan snarled, pointing with special attention to the bruise on Ike’s jaw.

It was still dark purple and swollen. It had been several hours already, but the bruise was still so puffed up that it made Ike’s face look lopsided. It was incredibly undignifying. Just the mention of the bruise drew in the crowd’s interest further.

Ike was only caught off guard for a second. He reared up again, readying to fire back, but Kyle stuck a crutch out in front of him.

“Ike, stop it,” he said, an exhausted look in his eye, “Just go to class.”

“I don’t want him anywhere near you. After all the hell you’ve drug yourself through for him, he doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near-”

“-Ike, please,” Kyle begged effetely. He looked like he was about to collapse onto his crutches right then and there, but he stood his ground.

The action alone brought a smile to Stan’s face. The firebrand inside his friend wasn’t so far gone after all.

“Kyle…” Ike was stunned. He was losing power and he knew it. In his shock, he looked around the crowd a little wearily, before returning to meet his brother’s gaze, “Kyle, you’re not in the right mindset to make decisions like this. You can’t let him push you around like that, it isn’t-”

_ “-Shut the fuck up, freshman!”  _ somebody shouted from the crowd.

Stan laughed, recognizing Bebe’s raspy screech.

“Nobody likes a know-it-all!” somebody else shouted.

“Leave our quarterback alone! You can call the shots when you’ve scored ten consecutive touch-downs like he has!”

“Go back to underclassman territory, freshman!”

“Dude, why the fuck is our man Ky on crutches?”

“Freshman!”

“Wait, what’s going on? I was in the bathroom for, like,  _ four  _ seconds, and I walk in on-”

“-Leave ‘em alone, they’re SBFs!”

_ “Freshman!” _

Underclassman heckling was one of Stan’s favorite things about being a senior in general, but this was by far the best heckling session he had ever seen. Not only was all the verbal abuse directed at none other than the creepy Canadian himself, but it was all done by the same group of kids Stan had grown up with. All of them. They didn’t even know what he had done, but they were here defending Stan and Kyle like there was no tomorrow.

Even Wendy Testaburger winked at him before telling Ike to crawl back to freshman hall.

Ike was standing still, glancing at the crowd. It was no secret that Ike was a narcissistic elitist; so to see him so uncomfortable felt like Christmas morning for Stan. The power dynamics were flipped upside down. He was completely at the bottom of the food chain.

But even though he was lucidly aware of this, Ike just rolled his eyes.

_ “Freshman!”  _ someone screamed.

Ike responded by giving them the middle finger. He grabbed the scruff of Kyle’s coat and pulled him close, Kyle just going along with the pull. Ike then whispered something into Kyle’s ear, ignoring all the protests from the crowd. When he was done whispering, he simply let go of his older brother and walked off like nothing had happened.

The crowd erupted into hoots and hollers, some of them laughing at Ike’s disappearance, others just being rowdy for the hell of being rowdy.

Clyde caught Stan’s gaze from the crowd and mouthed the words: ‘You good?’

Stan just stuck a thumb up in response, still chuckling at Ike’s torment.

After that the crowd started to disperse, the girls went off together, some people retreated to their classes, a few lingered by to keep tabs on Stan and Kyle, and even some adventurous people went chasing Ike down the hall.

When they were alone (or at least, as alone as they could be for a high school hallway), Stan gave Kyle a toothy smile and said, “Well, that was fun. Freshman abuse is fun, isn’t it?”

“He’s not even a freshman anymore,” Kyle said, pretending to be fascinated with the floor.

“Yeah, but I think that mentality will never change. I mean, our entire graduating class has grown up together, everyone except for him. I think he’ll always be at the bottom of our social hierarchy,” Stan laughed.

When he noticed Kyle’s inattentiveness, he softened.

“What did he say to you when he was whispering like that? He looked like he really upset you.”

“You don’t want to know,” Kyle murmured.

“Kyle,” Stan said sternly.

Somewhere down the hall, someone guffawed loudly, and a smaller stream erupted into cheers.

“Why’s everyone so uppity today?” Stan asked, watching a group of girls walk by with their bra straps showing.

“Bebe’s throwing some party Friday.”

“But it’s Monday. Why are they already hyped?” Stan asked.

“It’s supposed to be huge,” Kyle explained meekly, still avoiding eye contact. He wavered back and forth in his place, like he wanted to go, but something was holding him back. His motions only scared Stan all the more.

“Hey, Kyle, I’m really sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” Stan said sadly, “I promised I wouldn’t let them take you home, but I broke that promise. I’m sorry. I never wanted to let you get hurt. I’m so sorry I let you down.”

Now Kyle finally gave Stan attention. He looked up at him with big, doleful eyes, biting his lower lip.

“Stan-” he started, his voice trembling, “-I think that there are a lot of things you don’t really understand right now. I think your perception’s skewed. Do you think- I mean, I don’t know. Do you think we could talk about this? ‘Cause there-...”   
Kyle took a deep breath, “There’s something I have to tell you. And I don’t want you to get upset again.”

“Again?” Stan tilted his head to the side.

“Could we talk sometime later today? Like on our lunch break?”

“Can’t we talk now?”

“I have to get to class...”

“You have half an hour ‘till your first class starts. You’re always early, Kyle. I know that about you. You have time to talk now.”

Kyle pursed his lips together and looked at the floor. He took a moment to collect himself, Stan watching over him closely.

Once Kyle regained a little spurt of confidence, he looked Stan in the eye once more. His fiery self was absent. He didn’t seem like he was angry, or even defiant. He just seemed to be sure of himself when he said:

“I don’t feel like talking now. I had a really rough night, Stan. I don’t feel well. And something tells me you’re not feeling quite yourself either. I’d rather wait until our lunch break.”

“Okay,” Stan said calmly, though he was still exploding with worry on the inside, “We can go outside, or to the library, or somewhere to talk.”

“We can sit with Kenny and Cartman.”

“We don’t have to. Let’s go somewhere where it’s just us. I want to talk to you, Kyle.”

“It’s okay, we can sit with them.”

“But you don’t want to sit with them to talk. Let’s go somewhere where we can be alone.”

“No,” Kyle said a little too quickly, “No, we can sit with them. I- I don’t want to be alone with you anymore.”

Stan’s heart sunk, “Why would you say something like that?”

Kyle absentmindedly touched one of the bruises on his face; it was prominent and black, even under the makeup.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, staring somewhere else, “I just don’t want to.”

Stan frowned. In one swift movement, he pressed his finger to one of the bruises on Kyle’s face. He watched as Kyle winced and grimaced at the touch, and how his entire body stiffened when Stan pressed down on the little black mark.

“Does it hurt?” Stan asked, something awful grinding in his gut as he took in the way Kyle reacted to the bruise.

He watched Kyle’s throat twitch when he answered, “It does when you touch it.”

Stan took his finger away, but Kyle didn’t relax.

“Do you want me to walk you to your first class?” Stan offered.

“No, I can walk.”

“Don’t you need help carrying your books? You’re on crutches.”

Kyle blanched, “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

He didn’t say anything else when Stan took his books for him and helped him to his first class. A few people waved or said “hello” to them, but neither really responded. Kyle was too busy trying to operate his crutches, and Stan was too busy looking out for him.

“When did you get the crutches?” Stan asked.

“This morning,” Kyle strained as he “walked.”

“You’ll get used to them soon. Just keep practicing,” Stan tried to assure him, since Kyle seemed to be getting frustrated.

“No, I won’t. I’ll be getting my foot put in a boot Friday.”

“Friday? Isn’t that a little soon? Your ankle probably still hurts like hell.”

“Very soon,” Kyle agreed, “And it does hurt. A lot. But I need to get the inconvenience out of the way.”

“Oh,” Stan said. He was feeling worse and worse with every minute.

He stopped when they reached Kyle’s classroom, “I’ll see you at our table at lunch then?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“And Kenny and Cartman have to be there?”

“I know what you’re thinking…” Kyle started, avoiding eye contact for the millionth time, “But I really don’t want to be alone.”

“Is Ike going to be there?”

“No…”

“No?” Stan smiled.

“No. I don’t want you to get upset again.”

_ Again. _ This was the second time he used that word.

“Kyle, what do you-”

“-See you at lunch?”

“...See you at lunch. Bye bye, Kyle. Have a good class.”

“Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

* * *

Surviving until lunch break was taxing beyond belief. Stan could not focus on a single thing in any of his classes. He really should have paid attention, he already missed several days of school last week, but he couldn’t help himself. Everyone around him was chattering nonsensically about Bebe’s upcoming party and other events that didn’t interest him in the slightest.

Stan’s mind was a disarrayed mélange; and that was putting it lightly. There was too much to think about.

Kyle said he wasn’t feeling well; did that mean he was still ill? What was Kyle’s punishment from last night? He said he had a rough night, and that could mean virtually anything. And now Kyle wants to have another talk, one where they won’t be alone because he’s afraid of Stan getting ‘upset again.’ 

And now Ike’s presence was going to be a recurring thing.

Everything infinitely sucked.

Stan slammed his head down on his desk. A few people looked at him.

Before he had to justify himself, the bell rang overhead and everyone shuffled off to the cafeteria, Stan among them. He skirted around the crowds to get to the lunch room quickly. He took a seat at his usual table, where Eric Cartman was already seated.

He was eating from two lunch trays when Stan arrived, and eyed the quarterback suspiciously.

“You’ve been absent for a while,” he said haughtily.

“I only missed three days of school.”

“And two weekend days. With no word from either you or the Jew.”

“Fuck off,” Stan muttered. He opened up his oversized lunch bag and started to stress-eat everything inside it.

Then Kenny appeared out of the blue. He stopped short at the sight of Stan, eyes curiously wide beneath his hoodie, “Oh. Hey, Stan.”

Stan swallowed a lump in his throat when he replied, “Good afternoon, Kenny.”

“I didn’t think you would be at school today,” Kenny said wearily.

“Well, I am.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Kenny was visibly uneasy. It was clear from the look in his eyes that he had  _ a lot _ of questions to ask, but for some reason, he was holding himself back. He held his breath when he sat down across from Stan, next to Cartman.

Eric snorted, “What the fuck is going on between you two? What’d I miss?”

“You could say we got in a fight over the weekend,” Stan said bitterly.

“You could say that, or you could say other things,” Kenny added,  _ “Many  _ other things.”

Eric eyed the two of them suspiciously, but all he said was: “Don’t look now, but here comes the ginger.”

True to his words, Kyle walked in, hobbling on his crutches, pale and overworked by the physical exertion. At his arrival, Kenny immediately shot up from his seat with surprise.

“Kyle!” he cried, embracing him in a giant bear hug, “Oh my fucking God, I had no idea you’d be at school today! I didn’t think I was gonna see you for a while! Oh my God, you’re walking! It’s so good to see you! How do you feel, man?”

Kyle stumbled backward at Kenny’s jump in surprise, almost falling to the ground.

Kenny saw it instantly and reared up to save him, tucking one arm around his shoulders and the other around his ass to catch him before he fell.

Then they paused, looking at each other strangely.

“Gay,” Eric muttered.

They both broke into genuine laughter, but Stan found nothing funny about it at all. He tried to shoot Kenny an angry glare, but Kenny had all of his attention on the redhead. He helped him stand back up, apologizing, “Sorry. But seriously, dude, I had no idea you’d be at school today! Last time I saw you, you weren’t looking so hot. How’re you feeling?”

“Not that great, honestly,” Kyle said, moving to sit at the table.

Kenny shoved Stan out of his seat, “Move! I wanna sit here with the Kylie-B.”

Stan was mortified. He was actually so stunned that he didn’t do anything when Kenny shoved him aside, taking Kyle by the arm to sit down beside him. Kyle himself didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Stan hated it, but he sat down across from them, beside Eric Cartman, who was suspiciously watching the whole ordeal play out.

“Why’d you come to school then?” Kenny asked, “You should have taken a few more days off. You got real sick, man. I was scared shitless. Still am, if I’m being honest.”

“How sick? What happened?” Eric demanded.

“Kyle got DKA over the weekend. It was really bad.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah, it was awful. He was fainting and vomiting and everything.”

“Wish I had been there to see that sight,” Eric mumbled. His gaze lingered on Kyle for a moment longer before he said, a bit softer; “You should be dead, Jew. I know I say that a lot. But you should be dead. That’s real bad. ‘specially after the bus accident. What’s up with you?”

“Yeah, I know,” Kyle admitted, fidgeting with the handles of his crutches, “I just- I still don’t feel good, not really. But there’s a lot of reasons why I still thought I should come to school today. First off, my parents hate it when I take sick days. I already took, like, two or three. That’s pretty bad in my household.”

“Assholes,” Stan muttered.

“Yeah. It sucks. It’s okay though,” Kyle assured, “I’d rather be here than stuck home with them.”

Kenny and Stan shared a look. Something about those words made Stan exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Hey Kyle,” Stan started as gently as he could, “You never told me what your punishment was when you got home. Did they do something bad to you?”

“I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“Kyle, that’s not fair. I want to know what-”

“-Good  _ God,  _ Kylie-B!” Kenny cried. He was eyeing the back of Kyle’s neck with unadulterated shock, “Were you fucking strangled over the weekend?!”

Kyle gave Stan a hard stare before turning back to Kenny, “No. My parents didn’t do that. Don’t worry about it.”

Eric was interested now, “What, did someone give the Jew a hickey or something?”

“No!” Kenny shrieked, “It looks like someone grabbed the back of his skull and crushed it with their bare hands!”

“I said don’t worry about it,” Kyle hissed, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“But Kylie-B,” Kenny whimpered. He looked like he was about to cry, “Those marks aren’t normal. Who touched you like that?”

“He might have done it to himself,” Stan put in.

All eyes zeroed-in on him. Even Eric Cartman seemed to be intrigued. Kenny was staring at him bewilderedly, while Kyle’s expression was unreadable.

Stan opened his mouth to explain, but Kyle cut him off, “Shut up, all of you, I actually don’t want to talk about this. Okay? I don’t want to. Can we just talk about normal things? Or can we just eat lunch together? We haven’t had lunch together since the bus accident.”

Kenny had more questions, and from the look he was giving Stan, they weren’t pleasing ones. But he complied anyway, taking out a lunchbox and dumping its contents on the table, saying, “Sure, Kylie-B. Didja bring your lunch today?”

“Yeah, but I don’t really want it,” Kyle mumbled, grimacing as he sorted through his paper bag.

Stan and Kenny shared a look again.

“I packed an extra lunch for you,” Stan offered, “Do you want it instead?”

Kyle shook his head, “I don’t want anything that’s gonna make me puke. I hate puking.”

“Kyle, you have to eat. Especially after the weekend you’ve had.”

“I really don’t want to puke again.”

“You’re so high-maintenance, do you know that, Jew?” Eric asked, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Stan’s extra lunch bag and stood up from the table.

“Hey!” Stan exclaimed, “Where’re you going with that?”

“I’m gonna see if I can trade somebody for some soup so the stupid ginger stops bitching,” he snapped before walking away through the cafeteria, going table to table.

“Well that was nice of him,” Kenny said.

Neither Stan nor Kyle replied. Kyle was fiddling with his finger sticks and fumbling around to read his glucose levels, while Stan just watched on carefully.

“So, you said you had something to tell me,” Stan said, not relinquishing his careful eye on the way Kyle moved with his finger pricks, “Is it about what happened to you at your house last night?”

“Can you just stop asking about that?” Kyle sighed, “I really don’t want to talk about that. There are plenty of other issues we need to address, but I feel like there’s not enough time in the world to mention all of them, Stan. The way you’ve been acting, there’s-... There’s something really wrong about this whole situation and I-”

-He stopped when he realized that Kenny was stroking his hair lightly.

Stan’s eyes narrowed.

“Kenny, what’re you doing?” Kyle asked.

“I dunno,” Kenny simply replied, shrugging, “Offering moral support?”

Kyle just rolled his eyes, but Stan was not as callous. He was getting more and more upset with each passing minute, and it was getting harder to act so calm in front of everyone.

“Okay, well you keep offering moral support, Ken,” Kyle shied, “I’m gonna talk to Stan, okay?”

“We can always go somewhere more private,” Stan offered.

“No.”

For a split second, Stan thought he saw fear in Kyle’s eyes.

But just for a second. It passed quickly.

“No,” Kyle said, “I know I already said this, but I don’t want to be alone with you any time soon.”

If Kenny was disturbed at all, he didn’t show it. He really was the master of going cold fish when he felt like it. He just remained quiet as he comfortingly messed with Kyle’s red curls.

Stan felt his eye twitch, “Well, what do you want, Kyle? I’m listening.”

“I’m still not feeling great, Stan,” Kyle said remorsefully, “And I had a rough night last night. But I still really wanted to go to school today. And… one of the main reasons why was because I thought you wouldn’t be here.”

Stan had to do a double take, “I’m sorry, what? You thought I wouldn’t be here?”

“My brother and I were both convinced you would try to come to my house, and not go to school at all,” Kyle explained, “I didn’t think you’d come, and so I wanted to be here.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to be near me?” Stan asked, stupefied. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was heartbreaking, and overwhelming. It just didn’t make any sense what Kyle was saying at all.

“I don’t know,” Kyle answered. His foot was tapping when he forced himself to go on, “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never thought about you like that before. It’s just as shocking for me as it is for you. I never thought I would want space from you before, but this morning I proved myself wrong.”

“So what are you saying?” Stan asked, feeling himself start to tear up.

“Just that. Nothing more.”

“Are you saying you hate me?”

Kyle put a hand to his mouth, “Oh God, Stan, no. No. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe it, but I could never hate you. No way, Stan. I’m only saying that the… the  _ stuff _ that happened within the past few days is really beating down on our relationship, dude.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Stan asked, a little exasperated.

“I want you to think about going to counseling again,” Kyle said. He was direct and firm, but he still maintained a sense of gentleness. He spoke on with great care and levity, “Stan, I care about you, and I think you’re not taking responsibility for your actions and that’s jeopardizing the way you act around me.”

Stan hung his head low, “You think therapy will help?”

“Well, communication between us isn’t working anymore,” Kyle said softly, touching one of the bruises on his face, “It might be worth a shot. When you used to go to counseling, you said it really helped at the time. Why not go back?”

“Kyle, communication works two ways, you know,” Stan said. His sudden directness captured the attention of everyone at the table. Kyle suddenly appeared to be unsure of himself, while Kenny went on stroking his hair reassuringly.

“All I’m saying is you can’t blame me for not communicating properly, when you’ve literally spent the past two days beating around the bush and hiding from me,” Stan urged, “Like in the bathroom, and the car ride, and even while we were in the police station, you’ve been ignoring me. It’s hard to ‘communicate’ when that’s all you give me, Kyle.”

Kenny’s eyes widened at the words “police station,” but he said nothing. He just waited for them to go on talking.

“I know,” Kyle said, placing a hand against his forehead, “I’m sorry, Stan, I’ve just been really stressed out lately. You can probably tell.”

“I can,” Stan admitted, feeling a little guilty, “Are you okay?”

“No,” Kyle smiled, “Are you okay?”

“No.”

They smiled sadly at each other from across the table, before Stan broke the silence:

“Okay, I’ll go back to therapy if you start to be more open. Is that a deal?”

“What do you mean by more open?” Kyle hesitated, “‘cause I already told you, I really don’t want to talk about last night, I-”

“-Just don’t hide from me. Is that okay?” Stan asked as gingerly as he could muster, “Like, don’t avoid conversation if I directly try to talk to you. I only ever want to help.”

“I know. Thanks for that.”

“Anything for you, Kyle. I mean that.”

It was then that Eric Cartman finally returned. He chucked Stan’s empty extra lunch bag at his face, and slid a thermos of soup over the table for Kyle to catch it.

“Traded Nichole for some kind of chicken veg soup,” Eric said proudly, as if this were some accomplishment he was able to brag about.

Kyle unscrewed the lid of the thermos, “Is this kosher?”

“Dude, fuck off, stop being so picky! Be grateful for what I did for you! I can take that back, you know.”

“Sure. Thanks, fatass,” Kyle snorted, “But anyway, back to what we-”

“-Not just yet! Just a moment, Kyle,” Cartman continued. He lay a hand on Stan’s shoulder, “Stan, my dude, there was a catch to the bargain. Nichole only gave the soup with the condition you would save her a dance at Bebe’s party on Friday.”

Stan just rolled his eyes, “Really? Do I have to?”

“You do now, Kyle’s already drinking the soup! There’s no take-backs at this point!”

Stan huffed. He didn’t mind dancing with Nichole. She was a fine enough girl and Stan didn’t really have any beef with her or her friends. The idea of dancing with her was fine and untroublesome, but the idea of having to go to a party was unappealing. After the weekend he had had, being around so many people was the last thing he wanted.

But Stan guessed he would get over it. He had time until Friday. Things could smooth over by then. After all, Kyle was already compliant, and he and Stan were really getting somewhere with their conversation.

“You don’t  _ drink _ soup,” Kyle said.

“Uh. Yeah you do,” Cartman snorted.

“No, you  _ eat  _ soup. Like, you don’t put soup in a bottle and guzzle it. You put it in a bowl and use a spoon.”

“No, you  _ drink _ soup! You don’t fucking chew it!”

“There are solids in it, like chicken and vegetables. You can’t drink solids. You can’t drink soup!”

“You slurp it, don’t you?”

“Kenny, Stan, back me up here. You don’t  _ drink _ soup, you  _ eat _ it.”

“I swear to fucking God, Jew, I’m going to take that thermos back to Nichole or so help me-”

“-Enough,” Kenny ordered, still totally engrossed in playing with Kyle’s hair, “That’s enough. Guys, this argument isn’t even funny, it’s just annoying.”

“Kenny’s right,” Stan agreed, “Kyle and I were almost done talking, anyway.”

Kyle took a sip from the soup and then set it aside, “Right. So I’m game if you are. I’ll talk about what’s on my mind more if you go to counseling again.”

“This conversation is gay,” Eric said, shoveling a handful of choclate candies into his mouth.

“Your mom is gay,” Kenny sneered.

Kyle wasn’t paying either of them attention. He was only looking at Stan in anticipation, “Stan?”

Stan had to admit, he didn’t expect today to go so smoothly. He was so anxious the entire morning he thought he would give himself a heart attack. And the way Kyle was behaving so timidly honestly scared Stan to the core. But here they were at the lunch table, their other friends causing a ruckus, while they had a civilized conversation; it was like everything was already on its way to being normal again.

“Yeah, okay,” Stan said, “Sounds fair to me.”

They both smiled again.

Kyle took another sip of the soup, and then stood from the table, “Okay, I have to go. Wendy promised me she would catch me up on what I missed when I was out. We’re going to meet in the computer lab.”

“Do you need help getting there?” Stan asked.

“No, I’m good. I need the practice,” Kyle said. He was already setting himself up on the crutches.

“Wait, but your soup. Aren’t you going to have any more? You barely touched it.”

“I don’t want to upset my stomach,” he explained a little guiltily, “Besides, there’s no food allowed in the computer lab.”

“You mean there’s no  _ drinks  _ allowed in the computer lab, Jew!” Eric shouted.

“Can it, fatass!” Kyle then turned to Kenny and Stan a little more pleasantly, “Okay, then, I’m off. See you guys after school.”

“Bye, Kylie-B!”

“Take care of yourself,” Stan waved, watching Kyle hobble off until he was out of sight.

It wasn’t until Stan returned his gaze to the table that he noticed the truculent look Kenny was giving.

“What?” Stan asked, confused, “You don’t need to worry about the stuff that happened between us over the weekend. Everything is fine now. What’s bothering you?”

“Oh nothing,” Kenny drawled, his piercing blue eyes irate, “It’s just that I think I figured out who fucked up his neck like that.”

“Please don’t say his parents,” Stan winced, “Or his brother. Because if that happened to him while I was only a few blocks away, and I did nothing to stop it, I don’t know what I would-”

“-Could definitely be his folks,” Kenny said, though something in his tone made Stan feel like he didn’t really agree, “I’m not pushing that option aside. Could definitely be his folks. But my understanding is that he definitely didn’t do it himself. His fucking fingers are so small and weak from all the pricks, he couldn’t do that.”

“Who are you saying hurt him then?”

Kenny answered a question with a question, “Stan, do you remember when the two of us were at your house after the snowstorm? Remember when you jumped over the table and pinned me to the ground and pushed down?”

Stan stared at him in stupefaction, “That didn’t happen. You reversed the roles. You were the one who did the damage, you locked me in a closet.”

“Woah woah woah,” Eric was getting masochistic about the darkness of their conversation now, “Slow down, stop, and tell me everything.”

“Just a sec,” Kenny told him, before redirecting his attention to the quarterback, “You don’t remember that at all, do you? When you nearly broke my ribs?”

“I would never do that to you, Kenny, honest,” Stan pleaded, “You’re my friend, man, I would never intentionally hurt you.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kenny said, taking out his e-cigarette and smoking it.

“Seriously,” Cartman urged, “What are you thinking? Fucking spill, poor boy.”

“Nothing,” Kenny said again, fruity-scented smoke crashing into their faces, “Nothing. ‘cept now I’m one hundred percent sure who hurt Kyle. And trust me, you don’t want to know.”


	22. Chapter 22

The following week played out as well as it could go.

Stan continued to see Kyle at school every day, much to his satisfaction.

This was something he did not tell his parents out of fear they would remove him from school just to keep them separated. It was tough to not be permitted to spend time with him outside of school, but at least they were still able to see each other at all. Just the fact Stan could see Kyle alive and well every day made everything a little easier to handle.

But that didn’t go to say that Stan was feeling great. He was more nervous than ever these days, every little thing seemed to make him anxious.

He jumped when someone slammed a locker shut beside him, and then settled down.

It was Friday morning, and he was doing what he had been doing every single morning this week. Stan was at Kyle’s locker anxiously awaiting his arrival. And also just like every other morning this week, Stan’s nerves didn’t settle until he saw his super best friend walk in on his crutches.

“Hey, Stan,” Kyle said as he moved to open his locker.

“Good morning, Kyle,” Stan greeted, embracing him in a large hug.

Kyle went rigid in Stan’s arms, like he was freezing solid.

Stan frowned at that. One thing he noticed in the past few days was how sensitive Kyle was to touch. It seemed as though ever since he got the bruises on his face, he shied away from any sort of physical contact, especially when it came from Stan.  
For instance, there were times that Kenny would throw an arm around Kyle or play with his hair, and Kyle didn’t particularly seem to mind that.   
But if Stan ever grabbed his arm or touched his face, Kyle would tense up and go lax in Stan’s hold. It’s like he would turn into a ragdoll and just wait for Stan to be done touching him.

It was odd, and frankly, very concerning. What was even more concerning about it was that this was another one of the few subjects Kyle wouldn’t talk about. Stan asked him about it constantly, almost as insistently as he asked about Kyle’s punishment, but under both circumstances Kyle would just shrug and say, “Don’t worry about it.”

It made Stan worry when he felt Kyle tense in his arms, so he pulled back and pretended it didn’t happen.

“So Kyle, today’s your last day on crutches, right?”  
“Yeah,” Kyle said. He relaxed a bit when he was let go, and he smiled when he said, “I get my cast in a boot right after school today.”

“That’s nice. Those crutches must suck, right?”

“I’m so ready to get rid of these things. They’re making my armpits hurt like a bitch.”

“It’ll be nice to see you walking again,” Stan said, helping Kyle with his books, “Maybe you and I can start playing basketball together again. But I’m sure your foot still hurts. Do you think you’re ready for the boot?”

“More or less,” Kyle yawned, rubbing his eyes.

“Did you sleep last night?” Stan asked, though he already knew the answer.

“For a solid thirty seconds, yeah, but that’s about it.”

Another thing Stan noticed was how tired Kyle was this week. He was always yawning, he stared off into nothingness often, and he constantly asked people to repeat what they said.  
It didn’t occur to Stan until later that this was probably because Kyle wasn’t sleeping. He didn’t have his illegal sleeping pills anymore; they were probably thrown out by room service back at the Laramie hotel.

So while it was heartbreaking to see Kyle struggle, Stan didn’t really let it bother him. He thought it was for the better that Kyle was breaking away from the sleeping drugs. It was probably going to be a long journey, but at least Kyle wouldn’t have to rely on his brother’s smuggling to keep him well anymore.

“I’m sorry, Kyle. Your sleeping patterns will heal eventually,” Stan assured.

“I’m just glad I’m able to stay awake for class,” Kyle lamented as he yawned again, handing off his school books to Stan, “I don’t know how I’m gonna stay awake for Bebe’s party tonight.”

Stan dropped the books.

One of them landed on Kyle’s broken ankle.

 _“Ow!”_ Kyle exclaimed, “Dude! What the hell?!”

Stan scrambled to pick up Kyle’s books, “Oh shit, I am so sorry. You okay? I just- You caught me by surprise.”

Once Stan had reassembled the books, he recovered and laughed nervously, “Sorry! For a second I thought you said you were going to Bebe’s party.”

“I am.”

Something nasty stirred in Stan’s gut, “Um. No, I don’t think you are.”

Kyle stalled for a moment, clutching his crutches in defense before he asked, “What’s the problem? Why can’t I go?”

“It’s not gonna be a safe party, Kyle,” Stan said cautiously, “I know because I’ve been to her parties before, and I’ve heard the way people are talking about this one.”

“I’ve heard people talk, too. There aren’t going to be any drugs or pills.”

“No, but there’ll be drinks,” Stan warned, “Lots and lots of drinks. And loud music. And people. Lots of people. And gross dancing.”

“But _you’re_ going,” Kyle pointed out.

“Only because I owe Nichole a dance ‘cause of the soup thing.”

“‘Only?’” Kyle raised an eyebrow.

Stan shoved his hands in his pockets when he admitted, “And maybe for a few drinks. So what? But Kyle, I’ve been to these kinds of parties before. You haven’t.”

“Exactly why I should go,” Kyle braced himself with his crutches before risking to question further, “Why are you acting like this, Stan? Wouldn’t it be fun to go to a party with your super best friend?”

“No,” Stan said a little too sharply.

Kyle winced.

Stan softened, “Oh, Kyle. I didn’t mean it like that. I just- You don’t want to go, not really, do you? I mean, you’ll barely be two hours in wearing a boot for God’s sake. And there’ll be so many people there, and it’ll be loud, and none of the music is really any good, and-”

“-Okay, now you’re just making stuff up,” Kyle butt in. He was still visibly a little shaken from Stan’s harshness moments before, but he was starting to retaliate, “Yes, I do want to go. Why is it you don’t want me to?”

“You’d be at risk, Kyle!” Stan shouted.

A few people walking down the hallway glanced their way, some interested, others worried. But Stan didn’t pay them any attention. The only thing he could notice was the way Kyle tensed up when Stan raised his voice.  
“You are not _nearly_ healthy enough to go.”

“I know what I’m doing-”

“-No you don’t! You’ve never been to a party like this before, you were deathly sick only days ago, and your foot isn’t even healed, Kyle! I mean it, if something happened to you, I would-”

“-Stan,” Kyle said tightly, “Nothing’s gonna ‘happen to me.’ It’s only a party. I was invited. I want to go.”

“Come on, Kyle, seriously. What if something happens to you?”

“I can defend myself. You’ve seen me stand up to people before. I’m not helpless!”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

Stan winced as soon as the words left his mouth, and so did Kyle.

“Sorry,” Stan cringed into himself, “A little too soon, eh?”

Kyle bit the inside of his cheek, “Yeah. Too soon.”

“Sorry,” Stan repeated.

“Stan, just so you know, as soon as I’m feeling better, you can bet your ass I’ll be able to defend myself. You know I can. Everyone here knows I can.”

“Yes, everyone _here._ But people _we don’t know_ are going to be there,” Stan pressed, “You know how everyone’s been saying this party is going to be huge? That’s because Bebe’s inviting seniors from, like, two or three other schools. We won’t even know half the people there, how are we going to trust them?”

“That’s the exact reason why I want to go, Stan.”

“I’m sorry, _what?”_

Kyle weakened at Stan’s intensity again, “Listen, Stan, you heard me. That’s the reason why I want to go. Can I explain?”

“Yes. Do. Explain.”

Kyle bit his lip before admitting, “This is gonna sound dumb.”

“Literally everything you’ve said within the past five minutes sounds dumb, Kyle. What is the matter with you?”

Kyle took offense at that, and Stan could see it. He went red in the face. Stan expected him to fire angrily, returning back to his no-nonsense firebrand self. But Kyle just folded in on himself defeatedly.

“Never mind,” he muttered softly.

Stan’s heart panged, “Kyle...”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter. I won’t go.”

Stan was stern now, “Kyle.”

“Stan, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it, I’ll-”

-Stan raised his hand to grab him, but Kyle flinched and backed away.

“Don’t touch me, Stan! I’m sick of it!” he cried. He was trembling from head to toe, appearing very much like he was about to collapse, but he went on anyway, “I just- I don’t know… I want to _meet_ somebody! You said yourself people have had crushes on me before, and I know this sounds so fucking stupid and so fucking, _fucking_ immature, but I’ve always wanted that, Stan! You _know_ I’ve always wanted that! I just want to meet somebody… I don’t know. Maybe fall in love?”

Stan felt his heart break, “Kyle…”

The other students in the corridor were now watching them with extreme concentration. Stan recognized most of his football team watching him in concern, some of their mouths hanging open. A few girls were staring at Kyle in sympathy, their hands over their hearts. Some kids were even whispering to each other. Every single one of them had their eyes glued to the scene.

“I’m sorry, I should have known it was too much to ask you to permit me,” Kyle spat a little vehemently, though still quaking in fear.

“What’s going on over here?” Kenny shouted as he shoved his way through the hallway, clad in his trademark orange parka. He carried a strong defensive demeanour as he moved to stand in between them.

Stan just rolled his eyes.

Ever since the lunch conversation on Monday, Stan and Kenny were avoiding each other like the plague for reasons unspoken.  
After Kenny refused to tell Stan his theory about who left the bruises on Kyle’s face and neck, they were both in a tense state of avoidance. Kenny was treating Stan like he was a cancer; he was ignoring him, he was trying to space Kyle from him, and he still never told Stan who he thought hurt Kyle in the first place.   
It was as if Kenny and Stan’s friendship was switched off like a lightswitch. One minute Kenny liked him, the next minute he was out to get him at every chance he could take.

All of this he did without Stan knowing the reason why.

“Fuck off, Ken,” Stan said, “Leave us alone, we’re just talking.”

“Um, no,” Kenny stared at him like he was an idiot, “You guys are screaming at each other in the school hallway and the Kylie-B’s upset. I’m not gonna ‘fuck off.’”

“You’re such a fucking instigator, Kenny. We were only talking!”

“You were talking _loudly._ And you’ve got him all shaken up.”

“Don’t talk about Kyle like he’s not right there behind you! He’s a human being!”

“Then start treating him like one!”

He didn’t even give Stan the chance to retaliate. Kenny was already turning around on his heels to comfort Kyle, engulfing him in questions of concern and touching his hair in that comforting way that Stan hates.

He figured Kenny only threw in that last detail to piss him off. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

Stan took the time to look around the hallway, where he could clearly see his several classmates still watching them. They were trying to disguise their stares, but their ‘secret’ glances were still obvious to see. Stan could even tell they were gossiping.

“Hey Kylie-B, what’s up? You okay, sweet thing?” Kenny asked softly, “Did something bad happen? I just got here and I saw you two going off.”

Stan watched Kyle’s jaw clench. He was still vibrating like a machine, noticeably upset with his entire being. But whatever turmoil he was stuck in, he shoved it aside.

“No, Kenny, it’s fine,” Kyle explained, “We’re all good. Stan’s right, we were only talking.”

“But you two were shouting. You never shout at each other,” Kenny reminded, playing with Kyle’s red hair.

“We’re only disagreeing. It’s fine. Everybody does it.”

“But Kylie-B, that wasn’t right… He looked like he was about to _hit_ you, or grab you, or something. Are you doing okay? Do you need help?”

“Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping.”

“I know, I know. But what were you talking about? Why is Stan so upset?”

“We were only talking about Bebe’s party tonight…” Kyle dropped off his sentence there, casting an uneasy glance to Stan, as if silently asking for him to pick up conversation.

“Kyle thinks he should go,” Stan explained carefully.

“Why shouldn’t he?” Kenny shrugged, “It’s gonna be fun. There’ll be people from different schools there. We never see anybody new in this town. It’ll be good to see some new faces.”

“But Kyle’s still not…” he tried to word it in a way that wouldn’t be downright offensive, “...in the best physical state.”

“I could look out for him, it’d be fine,” Kenny offered.

“Wait, you’re going too, Kenny?”

“Yeah, everyone’s going. That’s why it’d be a shame to not see the Kylie-B there.”

“So you’re siding with him now?”

Kenny snorted, “Against you? Any time.”

Both Stan and Kyle paled at that line. It carried indisputable weight to it, a heaviness that Stan could barely take. The words weighed him down from the inside, making him feel ashamed and angered all at once.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” Kyle said, shoving his remaining books into the locker.

Kenny stuck up a finger, “No no no no no no, you deserve a conclusion, my friend.”

Stan cut in now, “Kenny, he’s upset, let’s just-”

“-It’s not my fault he’s upset,” he pointed out, “Now let’s just get a final answer here before Ike or Cartman or somebody shows up and causes even more trouble.”

There was an undeniable agreement at that statement; it went unsaid, but they all agreed.

“I’m going to the party,” Kyle said firmly. His voice was steady, but his body was still shaking. He was a paradox of himself, both afraid and brave.

“No.”

“Stan-”

“-No, Kyle. I’m serious. You’re not going.”

Kenny cut in, “Stan, you’re not the boss of him. This is America, you know.”

“America is a joke. And I’m not the boss of him, but I’m his fucking super best friend, and super best friends don’t let their super best friends go to parties where they could get hurt.”

“But Stan,” Kyle urged, “It’ll give me a chance to get out of the house.”

“Yeah, man,” Kenny agreed, toying with the tufts of red curls, “And I’ll be going, too. The Kylie-B will be just fine. We’re not gonna let anything happen, we’re gonna make sure he has a good time.”

Stan couldn’t bring himself to utter a rebuttal.

As much as he hated to admit it, they were both right. He didn’t even want to go to the party in the first place, he just wanted to give Nichole what she wanted, steal a few drinks, and then hit the road. But now he was going to have to attend the whole thing for Kyle’s sake, to watch over him and ensure he was safe.

It wouldn’t really be a change in anything Stan’s been doing for the past few days (and arguably the past several years): he would only be setting himself out for Kyle’s protection.

The only change here was a change in environment. Instead of worrying about abusive parents, kingpin genius brothers, and almost terminal illnesses, he was going to worry about humping teenagers, rum and coke, and blasting music. Parties were landscapes Stan knew well (a fact he was neither proud nor ashamed to admit), so he actually was not in the unknown this time. He was going to protect Kyle in a place he knew, with subject matter he knew, and problems he knew.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

So all Stan could say was:

“Stop touching his hair.”

Just to piss him off further, Kenny ruffled Kyle’s hair again before taking his hands away. He patted Kyle’s shoulder and said, “‘kay, Kylie-B. Do you want to go shopping for clothes before the party with me?”

“I would, but I’m putting my cast in a boot right after school today. I’ll just have to wear something I already have.”

“I gotchu,” Kenny’s blue eyes lingered on him for a while, “Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”  
Kenny looked Stan up and down before adding, “Anything at all.”

“Alright,” Kyle said a little hesitantly.

Though it was clear from the look in his face that he didn’t want to leave, Kenny left anyway, disappearing among the gossiping crowd with his head low.

Kyle watched him walk off with a look in his eyes that Stan didn’t understand; it almost looked like Kyle wanted to follow him.

“Come on,” Stan said, intervening, “I’ll walk you to class.”

* * *

Stan’s parents didn’t need a lot of convincing to let him go to the party. He guessed they were just happy he was getting out, and that he wasn’t going to Kyle’s house. He wasn’t even going to Kyle’s house to pick him up beforehand. Kyle was taking himself from his doctor’s office, so there was no real way Stan could see him before the party started.

Bebe was hosting the party at the local hotel. At first, it sounded weird. But the more Stan thought about it, the better it sounded.

There was a _massive_ courtyard outside the hotel, one that could probably hold a thousand people. When cleared out, it was probably the largest and finest space to dance in town. There was an indoor pool, too, where definite party magic could happen. Not to mention, there were several private rooms for intimacy.

Best part of all, Bebe’s parents owned the hotel. And they trusted their daughter with their whole heart. So that meant Bebe was the closest thing to adult supervision there; and she was barely seventeen.

The hotel never had any residents (because no one would ever want to visit a town like this). But tonight, it was packed tight before the party even started.

Stan had volunteered to be one of the people to help set everything up. He borrowed somebody’s van and spent about an hour unloading Bebe’s party supplies at the hotel. He wasn’t one for decoration, he left that to the girls. So Stan spent his pre-party hours locking and unlocking zip-ties from the back of a van, loading and unloading the tables, speakers, and drinks.

By the time everything was set up, other guests started arriving. Stan was just finishing with locking up the van in the parking lot, when an old red truck he recognized pulled up into the spot beside him.

Kenny McCormick popped out of the driver’s seat, dressed in nice party attire. His blonde hair was even slicked back and out of the way.

“Oh. Hi, Stan,” he said flatly.

“Hello, Kenny,” Stan said back; he didn’t know what else to say.

They stood there like that for a solid two minutes, Stan with the trunk of zip-ties still open, Kenny with an awkward posture, both of them wordless in the dark of the night. There were times Stan was sure that Kenny was about to say something, but silence between them remained. The only sounds that came at all were from the hotel, where the music was finally starting to play. Even out here in the parking lot, the deep throb of the bass could be heard.

After a little too long of standing in silence, Kenny made a move to go to the hotel.

“Wait!” Stan called.

Kenny paused, his hands in his pockets, “What?”

“... I don’t know.”

Kenny turned around again.

“Wait! I feel like you’re avoiding me,” Stan called again, “And it’s really pissing me off!”

Kenny stopped. He looked Stan from top to bottom, as if investigating him, before he said, “I kinda am, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure if you think real hard, you can figure it out, dude.”

Stan just huffed. Maybe this wasn’t the right time or place to bring up their estranged friendship, it was a party after all. Parties are for breaking relationships, not mending them.

But Kenny must have had other plans, because he didn’t go back inside the hotel. He stood there, making an effort to connect.

“Whatcha doing?” Kenny asked, though it was easy to tell that he didn’t really care.

“Nothing,” Stan sighed, “I just borrowed somebody’s van to unload all this stuff. Now it’s just a trunk full of zip-ties.”

“Oh. I got you,” Kenny pretended to look at the stars above them, “Is Kyle here yet?”

“I haven’t seen him,” Stan answered, feeling his throat twitch.

“It’s okay, I’m sure he’ll show.”

“And you’re sure it’s okay if he comes? I mean, I’ve seen the kinds of parties Bebe throws…”

“So have I. And yeah, actually,” Kenny took out an e-cigarette from his pocket, “Kyle’s real uptight, has been for years, and probably always will be. It might be fun to see him loosen up. Probably good for him, too.”

Stan watched as Kenny released a long blow of smoke, the light from overhead lamp-posts making the smoke clouds look opaque.  
“Plus, Stan. You gotta recognize that the Kylie-B is the one who wants to come. No one’s forcing him. He wants to come.”

Kenny’s words rung in Stan’s ears. He bit his lip and turned away so that he wouldn’t have to breathe the smoke in, “Yeah, I know.”

Stan waited for Kenny to start badgering him about what happened in the hallway earlier, but instead, Kenny just asked:  
“So how’s therapy going?”

Stan tilted his head, “What?”

“‘member lunch on Monday? You said you’d go to therapy if Kyle stopped hiding from you,” Kenny scrutinized him further, “You _are_ going to therapy, aren’t you?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I’m… not going to therapy right at the moment.”

Stan wouldn’t admit it just yet, but therapy was inaccessible.  
It wasn’t his fault at all, though. The psychiatrist office he used to go shut down after it ran out of funding. So the entire staff was laid off and Stan couldn’t get his old therapist back.

Stan had not told Kyle this, mostly because he didn’t want to worry him. So over the course of this week, he just lied low and pretended everything was okay.

Though it was worth noting that Stan planned on going to the school counselor if things got out of hand with his mental health. (Stan didn’t like the school counselor, hardly anyone did, but at least the school counselor was present.) He didn’t need the school counselor just yet, though.

“Why?” Kenny demanded, bewildered.

“Kyle hasn’t kept up his end of the bargain, so I don’t need to do mine yet.”

“What are you talking about? Kyle’s been with you every single minute of school. I know this because I’ve tried to separate you, like, thirty times, man! What do you mean he’s not keeping up his end of the bargain?”

“He’s still hiding from me,” Stan said, his heart sinking in his chest, “He still keeps things from me. He’s not answering all of my questions. And I’m just so worried about him, you know, I have so many questions…”

Kenny turned off his e-cigarette and shoved it back in his pocket, “He _has_ opened up, though. I saw it just this morning in the corridor. He told you what was on his mind. He told you what _he_ wanted to do instead of just waiting for you to make the decision for him. That’s called progress, Stan.”

“Hey, by the way, why were you so pissed off at me this morning? It wasn’t even eight o’clock and you were yelling at me, after avoiding me for almost a week straight,” Stan said, “Oh, and now you admit that you’ve intentionally tried to separate me and Kyle more than once. Why’ve you been such a dick? What did I do to you?”

Even in the shadowy lighting of the parking lot, Stan could see that he hit a soft spot with Kenny. His blue eyes were wide and vulnerable, his lips slightly parted.

“You didn’t do anything to me, Stan,” he said, “Not to me.”

Kenny’s senility made Stan’s gut wrench. He knew something was wrong just by the way he stood there unguarded.

“Look, dude,” Kenny said, visibly susceptible, “I’m not gonna apologize for tryna separate you and the Kylie-B. I can apologize for making our friendship awkward, sure, I can accept that. But I’m not gonna apologize for my actions.”

Stan didn’t say anything, so Kenny spoke on:  
“I was pissed this morning ‘cause you and him were at each other’s throats. Sort of. Like, you were both yelling at each other--which, by the way, I’ve never seen in my seventeen years of knowing you guys- but it was clear you had the upper hand. And then when you moved to touch him-...”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat, “What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, what.”

“Stan, you don’t want to know.”

_“What.”_

Kenny sighed, rolling his head back on his neck, “I don’t know. When you moved to touch him, I felt like everything became clear for me. It was already clear when I saw the bruises on his neck at the lunch table, but then it was just… clear _er,_ y’know? Like, I don’t even know if you were just gonna hug him or something sweet like that, but you scared the living shit out of him. I saw the _look_ in his eyes, man, and…”   
Kenny swallowed, “And it scared me, too.”

“...”

“I’m not scared of you, Stan,” Kenny said, struggling to remain composed, “You’re my pal, you’re my buddy, you’re my chum. ‘kay? I’m not scared of you. I think I’m just-... I think you should really think about therapy. ‘kay?”

Stan clenched his fists, “You guys talk about me like I’m criminally insane. You, my dad, my mom. You talk about me like I’m a lost cause.”

“Nah, man,” Kenny shook his head, “I want you to go to therapy _because_ you’re _not_ a lost cause. There’s still so much out there for you, dude. I care about you, and I want you to get better.”

Stan just clenched and unclenched his fists.

“What if I talk to the Kylie-B?” Kenny offered, “I can talk to him and get him to open up to you more. Then would you go?”

“Of course. I told him I would.”

“A’ight, bet. That’s our plan, then,” Kenny stuck out his hand.

Stan shook it, “Are you gonna stop avoiding me now?”

“Probably. I think I wanna keep a closer eye on the two of you anyway,” Kenny kicked a pebble across the parking lot, “I’m still mad at you, though.”

“I have plenty of reasons to be mad at you, too, Kenny,” Stan pointed out.

Kenny just wrinkled his nose at that, “I can’t think of a good reason why, but sure, whatever, man. Want to hit this party already?”

“I wanted to walk in with Kyle.”

“Of course you did,” there was a pause before Kenny said, “I can tell you’re tense. If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure Ike isn’t coming to this party. I think he thinks parties are beneath him, or whatever.”

“Oh, the Lord is _good._ Thank you, Lord!”

Kenny laughed, “Hey, what is it with you and Ike? Like the two of you were pretty okay with each other our entire lives. Now all of a sudden you just started-”

“-hating him? Yeah, I think I hate him,” Stan said nonchalantly, “Remember our conversation back at my house, when we learned about how Ike got those sleep pills? I think I started hating him that very second.”

“Wow,” Kenny blinked, “That was only a few days ago. Feels like a few years.”

“Yeah. You’re telling me. It’s hard to remember everything that’s happened so far.”

“Right? I should be keepin’ a diary or something.”

“So do you hate me?”

“S’cuse me?” Kenny raised his head.

“I don’t know, we were talking about hating people,” Stan tried to avoid eye contact, “I was wondering if you hated me.”

“Nah,” Kenny shrugged like it was nothing, “Don’t think I could hate you if I wanted to. I’m really mad at you, yeah. But I know a lot of this ain’t your fault. So I feel kinda bad for you, too. But no, I don’t hate you. I just don’t really trust you right now.”

That was an interesting choice of words. Stan could essentially say the same thing. After the manipulative phone call Kenny and Ike gave to Kyle when they were back in Laramie, on top of Kenny siding with Ike over this whole ordeal, not to mention locking him in a closet, it was equally difficult to trust Kenny. Because of his lack of pre-planning and his ostentatious personality, Kenny was and always had been an enigma. But now under the circumstances of everything they had been through so far, Stan could now see that Kenny was even more variegated.

It wasn’t easy to trust him, either.

“What about me?”

Stan raised his head, “Hm?”

“Do you hate me?” Kenny asked calmly, “You said you had plenty of reasons to be mad at me. Do you hate me?”

Stan thought for a moment before replying, “I don’t think so. You’re- um, We-... No. I don’t think I hate you. I’m just trying to… _process..._ I don’t hate you.”

Kenny just nodded, “Cool beans.”

“I do hate that thing you do with Kyle’s hair, though.”

Kenny genuinely laughed, “What? Why?”

“I don’t really know. It just sort of irks me in ways I don’t like,” Stan shrugged, “Plus, I’ve noticed Kyle doesn’t really like being touched these days, and then you go in there and touch his hair, and-”

-Kenny gasped, “Oh, really? Shitfuck. I never meant to make him uncomfy. I’m sure he’s going through a lot these days. Poor Kylie-B. I wish he had told me that. I would’ve stopped if I knew it was bothering ‘im.”

“See? He still has a lot more opening up to do. He’s still hiding.”

“I’ll talk to him about that,” Kenny vowed, “But you are going to go to therapy. Okay?”

“Only if Kyle agrees to stop hiding,” Stan murmured, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”

Kenny’s blue eyes were sharp like razor blades, “Was that metaphor directed at you or him?”

“What metaphor?”

“There you guys are! I was looking all over for you!”

Both Kenny and Stan simultaneously turned around to see their favorite redhead approaching.

Kyle was dressed in black party clothes, his Jersey golden chains loose around his exposed neck. His clothes were loose, but still highlighted his slender frame well. It was something so outside of what he normally wore, but his outfit still suited him incredibly well.

“Hot _damn!”_ Kenny cried, “Fucking Kylie-B from the Jersey Shore is back!”

Kyle laughed, “Hi, Kenny.”

 _“Dude,”_ Kenny extolled, “You look fire. Deadass. You are gonna get some girls tonight!”

“That’s the idea, yeah,” Kyle flushed and turned to the other, “Hi, Stan.”

Stan cut right to the chase, “How’s the boot?”

“I’m getting used to it!” Kyle cheered. He held up his foot to prove it, before forcing it back down on the pavement, “It’s really, really heavy. And it still hurts a lot. But it’s so much better than crutches.”

“That’s good,” Stan smiled, “I’m glad to see you walking again.”

Kyle smiled back, “Thanks. And thanks for changing your mind, dude.”

“Changing my mind?”

Kyle faltered, “About letting me come to the party?”

“Oh,” Stan’s breath caught in his throat, “Yeah. Right. I did. Of course, you’re welcome. I helped set the party up so, like, I sort of checked and made sure it was all good. It- It’s pretty safe. I think.”

“Good. Thank you. I know I’m not one hundred percent healthy, so I’ll take it easy tonight. Okay?”

He couldn’t help but get the impression that Kyle was just saying that for Stan’s sake. Even though this was the case, his words still stung. They made Stan regret his decision already; his gut was writhing and clenching so violently he thought he might be sick. He knew that Kyle wasn’t well, but here he was, leading the lamb to the slaughter.

Kyle was smart, but he wasn’t being smart about taking care of himself. He deliberately chose to put himself in a risky environment when he had several underlying health conditions, and he endangered himself even more by arriving in that immodest outfit. His clothing was borderline racy, and it made him look… desirable.

“Kyle, put a coat on.”

Both Kenny and Kyle staggered.

“Stan, it’s fine,” Kyle said, “After we go inside, it’ll probably be a lot warmer, and I don’t want to-”

“-No. Put a coat on.”

“I don’t want to have to worry about toting around a coat at a party, it-”

“-I’m serious. You’re going to wear a coat over that.”

“But I like the cold, I-”

“-No. Put on a fucking coat, Kyle. Right now.”

Kyle blanched until he was as pale as the moon.  
“I didn’t bring my coat…” he said in a mouselike voice, his head ducking down.

“Well then, you’re not going to the party,” Stan decided. He grabbed Kyle’s wrist, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

“Wait, Stan, I-!” Kyle blurted, fumbling with his wrist in Stan’s hold, “Hold on, this isn’t fair, I didn’t-!”

“-Hold on!” Kenny intervened now, trying to separate them, “Stan, chill the fuck out, man!”

Kyle pulled his wrist, but Stan held his grip firm. With the added pressure of Kenny’s forceful tugging, Kyle tripped over his boot and nearly landed facedown on the pavement, but Stan was able to catch him just before he fell.

But even after Stan saved him, Kyle was trying to get away again.

“Dude! Let go, I can’t-!” Kyle squirmed to get up.

“Stan!” Kenny pulled at his arms, shouting, “Let go of him, man! I got my parka in my truck, he can wear that!”

A filled silence ensued the parking lot, before Stan stood up and entangled Kyle from his arms. He gave a nod to Kenny, who stood disheveled and bewildered by the sight he had just seen.

“Do,” Stan ordered, struggling to compose himself.

Kenny looked him up and down for what was perhaps the hundredth time that day, like he was searching for something beyond himself. He didn’t find what he was looking for, but he retreated to his truck anyway.

Stan’s eyes followed him. He watched with a heavy heart as Kenny dug through his truck and the problem was solved. He was so close to getting Kyle out of that party that he could taste it. But it happened once again; something got in the way, something held him back from saving his super best friend. This time, the obstacle was his lifelong friend Kenny McCormick.

“Is it just me or is he starting to act a lot like your brother?” Stan asked softly, quiet enough that Kenny couldn't hear him but Kyle could.

Kyle just flexed his wrist and inspected it, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

While Kenny was still a good distance away at his truck, Stan took a deep breath and said, “Kyle, you realize there’s still time to back down, right? We can go home right now. We can pretend this whole party thing never even happened. You don’t need to put yourself at risk.”

“You really don’t want me to go to this party, do you?” Kyle asked so quietly he was almost whispering. His words were so soft and delicate that he was practically whimpering.

“I really, really don’t. I just- I’ve seen you get hurt too many times this week. I can’t let it happen again, I just-... It’s all too much.”

“Okay. Tell you what, Stan. I sincerely doubt anything’s going to happen; these are our friends, you know,” Kyle started shakily. He was still timid and soft, but Stan could tell that a flash of his confidence was kindling, “But I know how much you care about all of this, so I’ll tell you what. If I ‘get hurt,’ as you said, I give you full permission to drag me out of the hotel and take me home, okay?”

Stan took a breath, “But- But what if I’m not fast enough? What if I’m not there to stop it before something happens?”

“You know that’s not true, Stan,” Kyle bit his lower lip, “You’ve kept me in your sight for every single minute in the last five days. I don’t think tonight’s going to be any different.”

Kenny returned, a pale blue coat bundled in his arms, “This isn’t my parka, I think it belongs to Butters. I figured it would fit you better.”

Neither Stan nor Kyle addressed him. They didn’t even say anything when Kenny helped slip the coat over Kyle's head.

Stan just gave Kyle a pointed look, and then led them into the hotel, where the party of their lives was there waiting for them.

Now, Stan had been to several of Bebe’s parties before. Every time, there was a bit of a different experience. But somehow he just knew that tonight’s party was going to be unlike any other one he had been to in his life. He only hoped that by the end of this, Kyle would learn to listen to him more; he didn’t know how much more worrying he could take.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: violence, handcuffing/pinning, and a lot of underage drinking ;-;

_“Staaaaan!”_ somebody shouted.

“Quarterback is in the _house!”_

“I missed y’all! Where’ve you been?”

Stan accidentally felt himself smile. He had not expected such a warm greeting, and he especially had not expected such a great start to a party. His classmates hadn’t been kidding when they said this party was going to be huge, this party was _massive._ For a town with less than four hundred permanent residents, such a mammoth party with a garden variety of faces was a major-league event.

Even the decor was impressive. The lights of the lobby were replaced by color-changing LED light strips that lined the ceiling. Bright beads of color illuminated and dazzled across the floor to shine the way down the lobby to the front room, where the couches were already harboring Frenching couples. The grandiose chandelier that hung over the hotel lobby was dressed in vibrant streamers and toilet paper rolls, and twinkled under the strobe lights.

But somehow, even with all of this, this party was far from intimidating. The environment was familiar. It didn’t feel like it was too much to take in, it honestly felt analeptic.

“Hey, everyone,” Stan said, offering a salute to his football teammates.

He felt himself loosen up as he was greeted, but he didn’t feel comfortable, not after everything that happened back in the parking lot. He was relaxed, but he was vigilant. He wasn’t going to let his comfort distract him from looking out for Kyle, who by the way, was experiencing a slight sense of culture shock.

Kyle stared at everything with an unadulterated surprise.

Kenny nudged him with his elbow, “Whatcha think, Kylie-B?

Kyle just raised his eyebrows, “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I gotta admit,” Kenny laughed, “This is pretty big, even for me. Excited?”

“Oh yeah,” Kyle grinned, wrinkling his nose in the strobe lights.

“Let’s go get some drinks!” Kenny cheered.

“Do we have to?”

“It’s the right way to start a party, isn’t it, Stan?”

The quarterback bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from answering.  
He agreed with Kenny one hundred and ten percent. Drinks were his favorite part of any social gathering. When drinks were on the table, his mind cleared and his throat burned wonderfully. Not even hot girls or games with friends could surpass the cathartic release that came with drinking.   
But the idea of having Kyle drink with him was off-putting, which was strange, because they have drunk together before. Kyle wasn’t the chaste princess that Stan sometimes made him out to be; they had shared a few drinks together in the past. Maybe it was because of everything they had been through within the past few days, but for some great reason unknown, Stan hated the idea of Kyle drinking tonight.

Without waiting for Stan’s response, Kenny led both him and Kyle to the hotel kitchen, where the party hostess herself was playing bartender behind a counter.

“Boys!” Bebe Stevens cheered at their arrival, her voice permanently raspy and scratchy from smoking too much as a pre-teen. Her curly blonde hair was wild, almost exploding from the sides of her head in volume. She even tied colored tinsel strips from her roots, so her hair glimmered as she bounced around.  
“Thanks for showing up, we needed a little life at the party,” she smiled, passing off a red solo cup to some girl at her hip.

“Whatcha talking about, Bebe?” Kenny grinned, “This party has more life than I’ve ever seen, and it just started!”

“Thank you! Having fun?”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you mind terribly if I asked for a drink?”

“Not at all, that’s why I’m here,” Bebe got to work, addressing Stan as she did, “So mister quarterback, thanks for setting up the party with me and the girls. We couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could have,” Stan played it off.

“Nah. Hate to break it to you, but we ladies ain’t six feet tall and two hundred pounds of solid muscle. You did all the hard work.”

“Not really. I just unloaded stuff. The zip-ties did all the real work. They held everything in place ‘til we got here.”

Bebe finished Kenny’s drink and turned to Stan, “Anything for you?”

Stan shrugged, “You know what I like.”

Bebe nodded and fixed him a standard rum and coke, “Didja return Leslie’s keys?”

Stan stalled, “What? Leslie’s keys?”

“You borrowed her van for the equipment, ‘member?”

“Oh, that was her van? I didn’t know who the owner was,” Stan shrugged, taking the red solo cup when it was ready, “No. Still got the keys in my pocket. When I find her I’ll give ‘em back.”

Kyle perked up now. He leaned forward on the counter, “Did you say Leslie? Leslie Meyers? Is she here?”

Bebe had to do a double take. She then guffawed and laughed, her hair bouncing with her movement, “Oh my God, Kyle! I didn’t recognize that was you! I’ve never seen you wear blue before!”

Kyle smiled, “It’s Butters’ coat.”

“I’m happy to see you, I didn’t think you’d come, my dude! You’ve never come to my parties before. What changed your mind tonight?”

Kyle shrugged, “I wanted to get out of the house.”

Stan went still at that line, his cup halted in front of his lips. For some reason, Kyle’s words really landed with him.  
He swore that Kyle told him earlier that he wanted to come to the party just to meet some girls. Technically it made sense if Kyle wanted to keep that secret from Bebe, certainly Stan could concede that.   
But just the somber way Kyle said it, along with the unreadable look in his eyes made Stan believe that it was something more than that.

But Bebe didn’t seem to notice at all. She ran her tongue along her teeth and said, “Yeah, dude, I get it. It’s good to see you without crutches, too! Can I get you anything?”

“He’s not drinking,” Stan cut in.

Bebe pulled a face.

“He can drink if he wants to. It’s his body, he can feed it what he wants,” Kenny said while sucking on an ice cube.

“Well? Whatcha want, Kyle?”

He looked embarrassed when he asked, “Juice?”

“Sure thing,” Bebe smiled and went to the fridge.

“Don’t spike it,” Stan called after her.

She snorted, her brown eyes laden with vicious sarcasm, “Right. Sure. No spiking. Got it.”

“No, I’m serious. Don’t spike it. He-”

“-Actually Bebe, Stan’s right,” Kyle cut in, “I, um, I got sick over the weekend. I can’t really have anything alcoholic.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Bebe clapped a hand to her forehead, “Sorry! I remember hearing rumors, but I didn’t know they were true. Plus, I remember you’re diabetic, right? Whoopsie daisy. Sorry. Do you want, like, a virgin drink? I make a mean virgin piña colada. Deadass. Like, the best virgin piña colada in town.”

“No thanks. Straight juice is probably what my glucose needs.”

“Right right right. Sorry. Be right back,” Bebe said before disappearing around the corner to the fridge.

Kenny had been watching the entire scene with speculated eyes. When Bebe was out of earshot, he set his drink aside and asked Kyle, “You’re telling the truth, right, Kylie-B? You’re not just saying that for Stan’s sake?”

Stan bristled.

Kyle looked startled, “No, yeah. I’m telling the truth. After DKA, one drink could probably land me in the hospital.”

Kenny’s studying gaze didn’t break. He was going cold fish again, his contemplating blue eyes thinking up storms as he scrutinized the both of them. But he didn’t say anything more. He just took another shot of his drink.

When Bebe returned, Kenny spit over the counter, “I don’t like this drink anymore. Can I have something else?”

“Chill out, Ken,” Stan hissed.

“It’s no biggie. We actually got drinks to spare,” Bebe explained, “I owe that to the other schoolkids for bringing in so much. I’m so glad they all decided to come! I was honestly worried ‘cause of COVID that they would all stay home, but it turns out that they’re just as stupid as the rest of us and decided it was fine to break social distancing rules.”  
She winked, “What can I get you, Ken Doll?”

“Something lemony.”

If Kenny was aware of the innuendo he made, he didn’t show it at all. Stan honestly couldn’t tell if Kenny purposefully played it off, or if he just had no idea he made a sex joke.

“Oh, speaking of COVID,” Stan cut in now, turning to Kyle on his right, “I remember reading from the diabetic pamphlets that your immune system’s gonna be pretty jacked up for a few weeks. You should stay far away from everyone you don’t recognize.”

Bebe spoke as she was mixing a drink, “You’re pretty protective, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying,” Stan sighed tersely, “We don’t know where they’ve been. We don’t know what they’ve been exposed to. If any one of them has the virus and touches Kyle, he could be at serious risk.”

“Like any teenagers in a mountain town in the middle of nowhere with no contact to the rest of the world have the fucking virus.”

“Shut up, Bebe. I’m serious. It’s dangerous. … We shouldn’t have come,” he turned to Kyle, “Let’s leave now.”

Bebe’s eyes were wide, “I’ve never seen you so uptight at a party before, Stan. Everything okay?”

“Kyle, let’s leave.”

“But we just got here,” Kyle protested,“I don’t want to go home just yet.”

“Kyle, listen to me, you have to-”

“-No, you don’t understand,” Kyle put his hand on Stan’s knee and squeezed, “I _don’t_ want to go _home_ right now. Please.”

Stan was more than apprehensive at this point; he was overwrought with uneasiness. Both Kenny and Bebe were exchanging worried glances, the silence of the kitchen tormenting the moment.  
Now he was absolutely certain about his prediction earlier; there was some alternative reason for Kyle wanting to go to this party, and Stan could already tell that he wouldn’t like it.

There was only one thing that Stan was absolutely sure of, and that was that this was not the right time or place to discuss whatever that reason may be. There were too many people, Kenny was still watching him like a hawk, and poor Kyle just wanted to have fun for Christ’s sake. So Stan just cleared his throat and ordered another drink.

After staying a while longer, passing stories, and thanking Bebe for the drinks, Stan, Kenny, and Kyle went adventuring through the hotel. A second later they found themselves in the billiard room playing pool with a couple of guys from school.

Stan had never played pool before and he was almost drunk, so he wasn’t winning at all. (At least, he was pretty sure he wasn’t winning. He didn’t know any of the rules of the game, so he could have been winning for all he knows.) Meanwhile Kyle was beating everyone, and Stan was overwhelmingly proud of him.

Kenny was there, too, but he wasn’t playing. He just sat on a couch and watched wordlessly. (He actually might have been asleep with his eyes open; it was hard to tell.)

As much as Stan really wanted to just let Kyle have this, to just let him laugh, and have fun, and show off his pool skills to the other guys, something prevented him from truly letting go. Maybe it was because of the alcohol, maybe it was because of his anxiety, or maybe it was even a combination of both, but for whatever reason it was, halfway through the game, Stan threw an arm over Kyle’s shoulders and asked:  
“Kyle, why don’t you want to go home?”

Kenny raised his head from the couch now, proving that he was, in fact, actually awake. He paid no mind to Stan whatsoever, and directed all of his attention to Kyle, who was essentially unaffected by Stan’s question. He just held on to the pool cue lined up on the table.  
“My parents are having a conversation with Ike tonight,” Kyle said, his concentration zeroed-in on the game.

“Ike?” Stan snarled, “The fuck does that Canadian want?”

“It’s the reason he couldn't come to the party tonight,” Kyle explained, “He wanted to come. He just needed to talk to my parents about something.”

“About what?” Stan asked, his arm still slung around Kyle’s shoulders as they stood together by the pool table.

He could feel Kyle’s body tense up under his arm when he admitted, “I- um. I don’t really know. It just sounded serious, and I just didn’t want to be there for it.”

“Nothing else? No other reason why you didn’t want to be home?”

“Well-” Kyle’s shoulders were now as tight as a drum, “-M-My house has just been kind of tense lately. Since I got back from- you know. Laramie.”

Stan wanted to incline further, but Kyle went on:  
“But I also just wanted to have some fun with my friends, you know?” Kyle forced a smile, “I wanted to get out, have a good time. And like I said, hopefully meet a special someone.”

The guys at the pool table hooted at that, some of them even winking. From the couch, Kenny seemed to enjoy it, too, he was smiling with his eyes.

But Stan just frowned.

* * *

As with all good parties, there were several phases that passed over time. There were card games followed by hyped dancing, then kissing games followed by sexual dancing, then drinking games followed by rave dancing.

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny were able to stay awake for it all, even Kyle who had gone days without sleep and even Stan, who had consumed way too much alcohol for his own good at this point. Kenny was having a great time like he always does, but still managed to keep a close eye on Kyle. Stan was only getting more and more anxious as the night drew on, and it didn’t help that he was starting to feel buzzed.

And much to his surprise, and slight satisfaction, Kyle actually seemed to be having fun.

It was strange. He had to admit that Kyle looked the most like himself than he has all week. There was a fire burning in his jade-colored eyes that inflamed his entire body with excitation.

What was _really_ strange was how Kyle somehow managed to still look great, even while dressed in Butters’ blue coat. Butters and Kyle shared the same slender frame, so it fit him well. But Butters must have been a bit taller, because a bit of the fabric still hung over Kyle’s pants by a few inches, managing to cover the majority of his ass well enough.   
Stan decided that he made the right choice by having Kyle wear a coat. He might not have been able to prevent him from coming to the party, but at least he could forestall any sort of ogles Kyle might have picked up; it was a repulsive thought that Stan had crawling around in the back of his mind, but it could have become reality had he not done anything.

His decision about the coat was _especially_ helpful considering that the slow dancing was now beginning.

The lights dimmed and the music slowed, people gathering in pairs of two to dance together on the floor of the lobby. Half of the partygoers were wasted at this point, but everyone still managed to quiet themselves and gather for the congregation.

“You gonna go find Nichole or what?” Kenny asked, nudging Stan.

Stan just stared, “Nichole?”

“You owe her a dance.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. That’s the whole reason why you decided to come in the first place.”

“Why?”

“‘cause she gave Kyle her soup.”

“So I have to dance with her?”

“Yeah? Don’t you remember?”

“No?” Stan exclaimed dubiously.

Kenny looked him up and down and sighed, “You really need to stop drinking, dude. You’re only seventeen and you act like your old man when he was an alcoholic.”

“‘m not an alcoholic,” Stan muttered, wiping his mouth. He was sure that he was never fitfully drunk in the first place. Stan drank tonight, yes, but he didn’t get drunk. He didn’t want to risk anything now that he had to look out for Kyle.

Kyle.

Where was Kyle?

It was just now that Stan realized that Kyle was not at his side.

He felt a flash of panic, grabbing Kenny by the scruff of his shirt, “Dude! Where the fuck is Kyle?! Wasn’t he just right here?!”

“Ssh!” Kenny hissed.  
He tore Stan’s hands off of him and pointed across the dance floor and whispered, “He’s just over there. Pipe down. People are trying to make memories here.”

Stan looked to where Kenny pointed and something stirred in his heart. He couldn’t tell if the sight was endearing or discouraging, but whatever emotion he felt while taking it in, the feeling was oppressing.

Over on the far side of the dance floor, Kyle was slow dancing with none other than Leslie Meyers, her hands on his shoulders and his around her waist. They were laughing, both of them, as they softly spoke to each other beneath the music, waltzing in tune with the beat.

“Isn’t that adorable?” Kenny asked, nudging Stan’s elbow, “Look at ‘em.”

The more Stan looked, he could see that Leslie was actually only touching Kyle with one arm. Her other arm was bandaged up in a sling across her chest, a prominent surgical band-aid at the left side of her forehead.

“Oh,” Stan’s voice caught in his throat, “The bus accident...”

“You got to admit, that’s fucking adorable,” Kenny took a sip of his drink, “One of ‘em in a boot, the other in a sling. Come on. Don’t stand there and tell me that’s not the fucking cutest thing you’d ever seen in your goddamn life.”

Stan watched as Kyle and Leslie danced past him, neither of them even remotely aware of his presence.

“I didn’t know Kyle had a thing for Leslie,” Stan confessed, and he unexpectedly found himself feeling guilty.

Kenny shrugged, “I don’t think they have a thing for each other. I’m pretty sure they’re just good friends. Or at least, they used to be.”

“Used to be?”

“Don’t you remember fourth grade? They were close for a while, and actually became pretty good friends. They used to play computer games all the time.”

“Didn’t she, like, betray him for Jimmy or something? It’s been such a long time, I don’t even remember the story.”

“There was an altercation,” Kenny shrugged, “But they got over it. She’s not evil. I mean, fucking look at her. She’s wearing a yellow headband. How can you be evil and wear a yellow headband? You can’t. It’s impossible.”

By a fluke Stan found himself chuckling a bit. He took a swig of his drink and asked, “So what happened then? Why’d they stop being friends?”

“I guess over the years, Kyle just stopped making time for people besides you, and occasionally me and Cartman.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah, really. You didn’t notice?” Kenny stared incredulously, “Like, remember David Rodriguez? They were friends, too, I think. Kyle just broke contact with everyone after a while.”

“Oh.”

He watched Kyle and Leslie dance with each other. They really did look like friends and nothing more, based solely off of the respectful way they touched each other and the camaraderie they had when they looked in each other’s eyes. Something about this entire instance, their whole friendship, was heartbreaking on a deeper level, and Stan couldn’t understand why.

“It’s kind of hard to accept that she was the closest thing Kyle had to a friend when he was hit by that bus,” Stan said, his throat dry and scratchy.

“Dude, he’s allowed to have friends. Let him go.”

“I know, but, still. It’s just hard that-”

“-Let him go,” Kenny gave his arm a rough pat, “It’ll be okay. He’s having fun.”

After Kenny’s words, the first song ended and a few people changed dance partners. Kyle and Leslie laughed at each other and disappeared to go get some snacks, moving far out of Stan’s line of vision. He made a move to follow them, but he felt a pull on his hand.

Nichole Daniels was tugging at his wrist, staring at him expectantly, “Hello? You owe me a dance, remember?”

Stan looked to Kenny, wordlessly begging for an intervention, but Kenny just raised his arms in the air and backed away.

Stan responded by pulling a face at him, and then did his best to be cordial with Nichole when he said; “Look, I’d love to, but I have to go look out for my friend right now, he-”

“-Just one dance, Stan, you owe me,” Nichole solicited, her alluring dark eyes wide with amity.

Stan looked to Kenny again, hoping for at least some kind of word in his defense, but Kenny just shrugged.

He sighed, “Sure. Just one.”

Nichole stalled for a moment. Stan could see that she was slightly hurt by his pithy attitude. But Stan knew her well enough to know that Nichole was not one to wear her heart on her sleeves.

She proved this by nodding curtly, and then taking charge by directing Stan to the dance floor.

When she put her arms around him for the slow dance, Stan couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed of how he was treating her. They were good enough friends, they had been since childhood, and she was really a dear. All she wanted was a dance, when meanwhile Stan was brushing her off like she was a pest.

His anxiety was through the roof about Kyle, that was something he would not deny. But Kenny kept assuring him that everything was okay, that Leslie was okay, that Kyle would be okay, and Stan just couldn’t accept it. There was too much going on, too much for him to process, for him to be able to “let go.”

While he certainly owed it to Nichole to give her a sterling dance, he couldn’t dismiss that awful feeling in the back of his mind that something about this whole party was dreadfully wrong.

“You look great, Stan,” Nichole said, her bracelets clinking against Stan’s arms as they moved.

Stan was broken from his thoughts, “I do?”

He looked down to realize he was wearing a standard t-shirt, jeans, and three-year-old athletic shoes covered in dirt.

On the other hand, Nichole was stunning. She was dressed in an orange tube top that brought out her assets, and long bell bottom pants that gave her elegant curves. She was bedazzled in jewelry and wore glitter on her face and in her hair.

Stan bit his lip, “Sorry. I probably look like a slob next to you. You look good, Nichole.”

“You don’t look like a slob,” she smiled, “Not really. I only ever see you wear a coat or your football jersey in school, so this outfit technically does shake it up a bit.”

Stan sadly chuckled, “So what kind of bet did you lose to have to ask me to dance?”

“Humble much?” she joshed, “No bet, Stan. You’re actually quite a catch, believe it or not.”

“I’ll not believe it, then,” Stan smiled. He was catching a feel for the music now, and started to move in rhythm, his hands placed along Nichole’s bare waist.  
“You know, you’re ‘quite a catch,’ too, Nichole,” Stan started, dancing in time with the beat, “I’m surprised no knight in shining armor has asked you out this year.”

“I’ve had a few boyfriends on and off,” she shrugged, “None of them really worked out. I haven’t really had bad breakups, it’s just something like we lose interest or we’re too different, you know?”

“I think so.”

“What about you?” she looked at him endearingly, her glittery eyeshadow making her look striking, “Breakups? Dates? Anything?”

“I haven’t really dated since middle school, to be honest.”

“But you have so much to offer. How come?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. Come on. How come?”

Just beyond Nichole’s shoulder, Stan was able to just barely make out the sight of Kyle returning to the dance floor, this time with someone who wasn’t Leslie. This time, he didn’t even return with a girl. Kyle took to the dance floor with a boy, one a lot taller and sturdier than him, both of them arm in arm as they started dancing.

Nichole must have realized Stan was staring, because she turned over her shoulder to find what he was looking at.

She smiled lightly, “Oh. That’s why. Kyle Broflovski, huh?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Stan haphazardly asked.

“Do you have a thing for Kyle?” she asked, a mysterious glint in her dark eyes.

“Thing?”

“Do you love him?”

Stan swallowed, “...Not in the way you’re assuming. Like I’m not-... We don’t- I don’t love him like _that,_ there’s just- There are a lot of-”

“-Hey, it’s okay, I get it,” she smiled. She leaned into the dancing, resting her head against Stan’s neck as she swayed in his arms, “You guys are just entirely too good at being friends. You’re too close to each other to be in love.”

Even with her tender embrace absorbing him, Stan’s awareness was still completely alienated from her. He might have forgotten he was dancing with her at all, he was only watching his super best friend dancing with this boy. Something about their trip-in-the-light-fantastic was not at all fantastic, it was quaint and disturbing on a personal level.

“Does that make sense, Stan? Don’t let me put words in your mouth or anything, but that’s what I’ve always thought when I think of you guys. You’re just too close to really love each other.”

It was just now that Stan realized with unadulterated horror that Kyle was not dancing with someone he recognized. He was slow dancing with someone from a different school, someone from out of town. He was chest to chest, hand in hand, and noses barely two inches apart from someone who could very well make him dangerously sick.

“You know, when I first moved here, Kyle was my first crush,” Nichole drew on in the background, “I should have realized he was something special by the way Cartman prevented me from asking him out. This was before I even met you, and before I even saw you and Kyle together, when you-”

“-Nichole, I’m sorry,” Stan said aimlessly, his stare on his super best friend impossible to break.

She tilted her head to the side, her long hoop earrings dangling, “Sorry for what?”

“I- I can’t-... I can’t _do_ this right now.”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” she assured softly. She moved her arms up higher on Stan’s shoulders, “I’m not asking you out or anything, Stan. We can just enjoy the night. We can just have some fun. I like you, okay? I want us to have fun together.”

“No… No, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t, okay? I can’t.”

“Stan, are you alright? You look really flushed. Did you drink too much?”

“Nichole...”

“Do you need to sit down? You’re not looking so good.”

“Nichole, stop it. I can’t.”

“Why aren’t you looking at me?”

Just beyond her shoulder, Stan witnessed a sight so disturbing he knew right then and there it would reign in his nightmares for years to come.

The boy leaned down and kissed Kyle fondly, his arms locking him in the embrace, the two of them still swaying to the beat of the music together.

That moment was Stan’s match in the powder barrel.

Completely disregarding Nichole, he pried himself from her arms and bolted to the other side of the dance floor. He may have had to shove a few couples out of the way, but he couldn’t tell, his focus was solely set on getting there as soon as possible.

Enraged and quelled by pulsing adrenaline, Stan bludgeoned a punch right across the boy’s face, sending him careening backward.

Kyle shrieked, and so did many dancers around him but Stan couldn’t afford to pay any mind to them, not when this guy was still standing.

“Fuck you!” Stan cried, hammering into his face again.

The guy was about Stan’s height and weight, and was even just as muscular, but he barely looked ready to press an attack. He staggered back and forth on his feet, his hand covering his nose as blood leaked out of it, dripping onto the floor.

The gruesome sight didn’t disturb Stan at all. He just lashed out again. He barraged the guy even more by railing him with punch, after punch, after punch, after punch, the girls around him screaming and crying.

Just as he was about to deliver another blow, he felt a pair of hands grab onto his fist and pull it back.

Stan didn’t bother to see who it was. He just sent a low sweeping kick behind him and went on attacking the guy again. There came a point when Stan delivered so many bone-crushing punches that he could no longer see the boy’s face, it was so malformed and bloody that it was unrecognizable.

Only then did Stan take the time to turn around and see who he had kicked back.

The party crowd was circled around them, but they weren’t there for entertainment. They stared with turbulent fear and anger, some of them holding each other in support. Just at the lip of the circle, Kyle stood in throe, his arms wrapped around his abdomen, while Kenny was there by his side.

“What happened to-?” Stan was out of breath, “What happened to Kyle? Kyle, why are you hurt?”

Kenny stared at him fiercely, his blue eyes piercing with wildness, and Kyle looked just as upset.

“Stan, why did you do that?!” Kyle cried, tremoring all the while. He winced at a visible pain at his side, but he had a testy fire in his eyes that persisted beyond, “He only kissed me!”

“Kyle, he-... Exposure could put you in the hospital, you- you understand that-... Kyle, he can’t touch you like that!” Stan spat out, still breathing ruggedly.

The bloodied boy shakily sat up from the ground, hissing and wincing as he wiped at his nose, the action sucking in the attention of everyone in the room.

“Kenny,” Kyle whimpered promptly, “Go make sure he’s okay. I gotta get Stan out of here.”

“Not a good idea,” Kenny seethed, “He already fucking kicked you, I’m not gonna let the two of you go out together and-”

“-He’s just gonna hit the guy again until his face is broken. We both know that.”

“Fair point, but I don’t like the idea of you two going off and-”

“-Kenny, we’re just wasting time ‘til he strikes again. He’s going to blow any moment now.”  
Without waiting for what Kenny had to say in response, Kyle raised his voice now, addressing Stan, “Hey, Stan? You wanted to leave the party, right? Well, I’m ready to leave. Right now.”

Stan wavered unsteadily on his feet. He was dangerously ready to attack the boy again, the adrenaline was pulsing and throbbing in his veins, and his breathing was sharp and quick.

At Kyle’s words, he felt himself lower his fists, but not his guard.

“Kyle, are you sure? I thought you didn’t want to go home,” he asked. He had meant for his tone to be soft and gentle, but instead it came out coarsely. There was so much gravel in his voice it sounded like he had been screaming for hours on end.

“We don’t have to go home,” Kyle pleaded, hysteria rising in his tone, “We can go anywhere. I just want to leave this hotel. Please.”

“Okay… Let’s leave.”

“Okay,” Kyle looked like he wanted to cry. He indicated the bloodied kid on the floor, “Ken, go take care of him.”

Kenny was mortified, Stan could see that even from a distance. But he made like a dog and did what he was told, keeping his head low as he went to attend that barely conscious sap. He shot Stan a nasty glare of warning as he passed by his shoulder, one that managed to shake Stan to the core.

But Stan did his best to remain unaffected, “Come on, Kyle. Let’s leave this hotel.”

The crowd parted like the red sea with every step Stan took forward, backing away and skirting around him. Stan took Kyle by the arm and led him out of the hotel, some nervous girl holding the front door open for them as they left.

When they were outside on the sidewalk, completely alone besides each other, Kyle finally broke down.

He fell to his knees, covering his mouth and shaking on the ground as he released an ear-piercing sob that was so loud it could have woken the dead.

Stan was there at his side in an instant, “Oh my god, Kyle! Oh my god, are you okay?! Kyle, what’s wrong?! Are you hurt, what happened?!”

“S-Stan you- You can’t just-” Kyle was snivelling and blubbering as he covered his mouth, “You can’t _do_ things like that! You can’t _fucking_ do things like that!”

“He was endangering you,” Stan explained as composedly as he could. He felt like his anger was about to flare up at any second, but he could see that Kyle was terribly distressed so he forced himself to be sedative, “Your immune system is not strong enough to handle anything foreign, Kyle. He was posing a threat to your health.”

“He was only from North Park High!”

“That’s still two hours away from this hell hole, who knows what he was exposed to out there?”

“He was being ni-nice to me! You can’t just do that! W-What if you broke his nose or something?!”

“He was disrespecting you,” Stan said, feeling his rage accidentally slip into his tone, “He was touching you and showing you off like you were nothing more than his arm candy. I’m not going to ignore the elephant in the room, he _kissed_ you. He didn’t even ask before he did. He didn’t have your consent.”

“B-But he _did_ though...”

“No, he didn’t,” Stan decided, “No, he didn’t.”

“Let’s just leave,” Kyle cried, tears breaking free. He tore his hand away from his mouth, a delicate strand of saliva haphazardly dripping from his face as he convulsed, “Let’s just leave now, before anything worse happens…”

“Kyle, I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. The worst is already over.”

“Yeah, b-b-but we’re not staying here, we’re leaving! You said we could leave!”

“You said you wanted to get outside of that hotel, and you got what you wanted,” Stan explained carefully, “I’m gonna go back inside. I need to finish giving that asshole hell before we actually leave.”

Kyle dissolved into terrified tears, “What? No! No, Stan, hold on. Hold on, Stan, you can’t go back in!”

“Just stay right here, you’ll be fine,” Stan said, rising from the ground.

Kyle tugged at the leg of his jeans, “Stan, listen to me!”

“No, stay here,” Stan shook him off and started for the front door.

Kyle stepped in front of him, using his body as a barricade against the door, “No, Stan!”

“Kyle, please. Don’t be difficult.”

Kyle was bawling at this point, a fiery defiance in his eyes still shining above all the tears, “He doesn’t deserve violence! You need to stop, Stan!”

“Who’s going to stop me?”

“Stan-!”

“-I’m serious. Who’s going to stop me from avenging my super best friend?”

“I am!”

“...”

“...”

“...”

Kyle blanched, “Why do you look so serious…?”

In one seamless gesture, Stan snagged Kyle by the shoulders and tore him away from the doors. He moved so quickly that Kyle had little time to retaliate when Stan started pulling him down the parking lot, paying no heed to his protests.

“Stan! Wait, hold on! L-Let’s talk about this! _Stan!”_ Kyle shrieked, fighting with every ounce of strength his feeble body could muster. Kyle kicked and screamed, but Stan prevailed his hold, dragging him across the lot with unsullied tenacity.

Even when he reached the van, Stan’s firmness didn’t stall. He pressed Kyle down against the back of the van until he was completely pinned.

Stan unlocked the van and reached inside, digging through the pile of unused zip-ties left in the back.

Kyle’s eyes widened at the sight, “Oh, fuck.”

Stan just blinked, “What?”

Kyle trembled and choked under Stan’s arm.  
He shook his head repeatedly, almost obsessively, as he whimpered, “Y-You don’t have to use those...”

“If it’s gonna keep you away from the party and allow me to go earn the justice that you rightfully deserve, then hell yes I have to use these,” Stan explained, “Now, hold still.”

Kyle went deathly silent when Stan used the zip-ties to lock him to the van, his hands painting red blood marks along Kyle’s skin. He used six in total, two per each wrist and two tying each wrist together around the door handle. Kyle watched Stan work with his eyes wide, a few tears still slipping down his cheeks, his jaw clenched tightly.

When Stan was done, he forced a smile in an effort to alleviate him, “See? ‘s not so bad, right? Right. I’m gonna go inside now, okay? I’ll be right back. I won’t be gone long at all.”

He gave an innocent wave before trotting back inside the hotel.

* * *

Just like the first time he entered the party that night, his first impression was not expected.

Instead of being flattered and revered the second he walked in like before, everyone did either one of two things: they either bristled defensively at his approach, or ran out the back door after making eye contact for two seconds.

It was because of everyone’s strange behavior around him that Stan was not able to get to that North Park jerk at all. The guy had an entourage that protected him, swarming him like a bubble and shielding him from Stan at all costs.

Though Stan couldn’t find him anywhere, he had to assume it was Kenny who was behind this. That guy was relentless under pressure.

But so was Stan.

He searched for the North Park kid for two hours straight. He even went as far as checking the pool, the courtyard, and every single room in the hotel. He was searching hours after most of the guests left.

It wasn’t until he heard a bird chirp that he realized it was practically morning, and his super best friend was still tied to a van outside.

Stan ran down to the parking lot to free him, but was unexpectedly met with the scare of his life. The van was nowhere to be seen. The van was gone.

Kyle was gone.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to forewarn something so that it doesn't come as a surprise later. For the first portion of July, it is likely that I will not update for a little bit. I will be out of town, it will be my birthday, and I am trying to find work again. I predict that when I do pick up updating again, it will be at a pace of maybe every four or five days.  
> I hope this does not come as an inconvenience ;-; I'm very sorry if it does  
> But like I said, that'll be in July. We still have time :)
> 
> Anyway, warnings for this chapter: Implied/Referenced child abuse & pornography

Stan was panicking like he had never panicked before. He might have even been hyperventilating. But he couldn’t tell that for certain, his mind was too harrowed. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, his brain flashed from worry to worry so quickly he couldn’t keep up with his own thoughts.

Stan somehow managed to make it back home despite his paranoia. It was a struggle to remain cognizant, but he pushed himself to run two miles back to his house, panicked and disoriented, but very much conscious.

The first thing Stan did after kicking open the door to his house was run up to his bedroom to grab his phone.

He had been stupid enough to leave it behind when he went to Bebe’s party, and was now paying the consequences for his mistake.

Stan didn’t really have a plan, he was too unnerved to come up with a proper one. All he knew was he was going to start by calling Kyle. He was aware that Kyle had his phone taken away, but there was no harm in trying, right? Then he could call other people who were at the party, maybe even Kenny, Ike, or Kyle’s parents, or anyone who might have any information at all.

After finding his phone tossed down on his bed, he frantically called Kyle’s number and waited for a response, his anxiety climbing with every ring.

Stan had no leads. None whatsoever. He had ideas as to what might have happened to Kyle, but they all terrified him.

There was the chance that Kyle went home, but Stan hated that idea. Kyle was so hesitant about going home throughout the entire party; it just didn’t reside well in Stan’s stomach to think about him going back to that prison on his own free will. It didn’t make sense. Kyle wouldn’t torture himself like that, would he?

There was, of course, the possibility that Kyle didn’t willingly go back home. Perhaps Ike or even Gerald had been waiting for him outside, ready to take him away, just like how Stan always feared.

But of course Stan had to imagine an instance even more bloodcurdling. There was a slight prospect that Kyle wasn’t at his home at all, that he could have been taken away by some other miscreant against his will. Kyle could have been  _ kidnapped. _

There were so many more possibilities, so many more heartstopping things that could have happened to him.

If there were any non-dangerous possibilities, Stan couldn’t tell. His brain was still clogged from thinking properly, he was laboring under sinister delusions like wildfire and he couldn’t think properly. He earnestly felt like he had a concussion or something similar.

When no one answered the phone, Stan started crying.

He called Kyle’s number a second time, and it was only then that Stan noticed the piece of paper left on the edge of his bed.

Sniveling and wiping his face, Stan read:

_ Dear Stan, _ _  
_ _ We would have called you but I saw you left your phone at home. I’m very sorry we’re leaving in such a haste, but it’s an emergency. _ _  
_ _ Because of the Corona-virus, your sister was kicked out of her college dorm. She and everyone in her building are being evicted because all colleges are closing. She didn’t call until just today, but apparently she’s been sleeping in her car, and she gave herself the flu because it’s so cold at night. _ _  
_ _ Your father and I are going to take her home. But because of the virus, we don’t feel comfortable taking a plane, so we will have to drive. That means we will be gone for at least a few days. Maybe an entire week. _ _  
_ _ I’m so sorry to leave you like this, Stan, but sometimes life is full of emergencies that you can’t escape. I am putting my faith in you to take care of the house while we’re gone. Please be responsible and do the right thing. Under all circumstances, do the right thing. _ _  
_ _ Again, I apologize for the suddenness. I love you, son. Please call me when you see this message. _ _  
_ _ Love, Mom. _

Stan’s waterworks were on full power now, not just because of what his mom wrote, but because of everything. He cried like a little kid, shamelessly, all alone inside his bedroom. It was all too much. It was all overwhelming. It felt like he was drowning.

Just as he was about to call Kyle’s number again, the doorbell rang.

Perplexed, Stan looked at the clock on his phone. It was barely five in the morning, and it was Saturday. No one in their right minds would be at his house at this hour when his parents weren’t home.

Despite his better judgement, Stan pulled back the curtains of his bedroom window so he could see who was at the door. And when he did, he swore he felt his heart stop beating.

He opened the window and called down to the sidewalk, “Kyle?”

At his shout, Kyle lifted his head to meet his gaze, where Stan could now see that he was red in the face, like he had been crying, too. He was still dressed in black slacks and Butters’ coat, but now additionally wore his green ushanka in the crisp wind of the early morning. He stood out there in the cold, shivering and trembling, his eyes wet and rubbed raw.

Stan’s whole body went numb. He had anticipated that when he saw Kyle again everything would be okay, and everything would feel safe again. Instead, there was this awful gut-wrenching feeling frothing inside of him.

Something was wrong. Something was very,  _ very _ wrong.

“Kyle?” he called out again.

The boy in the ushanka was shaking like a leaf. With a trembling voice, he only responded with: “Can I please come in?”

Stan was quick to let him inside and take him up to his bedroom, helping him up the stairs and assisting him onto his bed. Even after he covered him in blankets, Kyle was still shivering, so Stan sat down close to warm him. He nestled up next to him, their shoulders pressed against each other, their thighs brushing slightly.

Kyle wiped his nose with the back of his hand, “Stan, have you been crying?”

“Yeah, have you?”

“Yeah.”

“Kyle, I-” Stan took a shuddering breath, his voice still shaky from his sob-fest, “-I got really,  _ really  _ scared when I didn’t see you outside the party… I’m so sorry I left you out there, you must have been even more scared than I was. I’m really sorry.”

Instead of saying anything, Kyle just pulled back his sleeves and presented his wrists.

Stan took a sharp inhale, the back of his throat clogging up at the horrible sight. Kyle’s pale skin was practically rubbed raw. There were distinct red marks where the zip-ties left angry impressions, and there were so many tugs and nicks that it looked like rashes were starting to form.

“Oh, God,” Stan whispered, “Oh, God. Kyle, that looks terrible…”

“It is…”

“Does it hurt?”

“A lot.”

“Why’d you pull so much?”

Kyle went rigid, “What?”

“Why’d you pull so much? If you didn’t pull, you wouldn’t’ve cut yourself up like that. You should have just stayed there. You would have been fine… Oh, God, Kyle, that looks awful,” Stan winced just at the sight, “Why do you always have to hurt yourself? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I guess,” Kyle sniffed, hiding his hands back under the blanket, “Ike put some Neosporin on it and he made me take a few medicines. He put some bandages on, too, b-but I took them off, don’t get mad. They got itchy.”

“Was he the one who took you home?” Stan asked, his mind still reeling at the scene when he left Kyle back in the parking lot, strapped to a van in the dead of night.

“No. Leslie did. She, um…” Kyle shuddered, “You dropped your keys when you-... You know. And, like, half an hour later she came outside, and she saw me, and-... Yeah. She, um, she drove me home. She’s really nice to me, and, well-... You know. She was pretty freaked out. That’s an understatement, I’m sure, I just don’t want to speak for her.”

“So what happened?” Stan pressed lightly, “Did she, like, take you away, or-?”

“Well… I don’t know how to tell you this, but I  _ wanted  _ to go to her house.”

“...But you didn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Kyle sniffed, “Imagine what her parents would think if she brought home a random boy with bloody wrists when it was, like, four in the morning. Plus, I- I knew you’d get mad.”

“Yeah, I’d get mad,” Stan said dubiously, “I’ve never been to her house before, I don’t know if it’s safe or not.”

“Yeah…” Kyle said. He deflated beneath the weight of the blanket, “Yeah, exactly.”

“So what happened?”

“She had a pocketknife in her glove box. She used it to help me out of the ties. Then she drove me home.”

“You didn’t want to go home, though,” Stan said as softly as he could.

He rested his hand on Kyle’s back. He was aware of the bruise, of course, but he placed his hand up high, hoping with his entire being that he was touching a safe spot. When Kyle didn’t flinch at the touch, Stan exhaled a sigh of relief and rubbed his back to comfort him.

“I didn’t,” Kyle admitted, “But how was I supposed to explain that to her? She was being so nice...”

“Nice,” Stan repeated, “Unlike that North Park boy, right?”

Kyle shuddered again, this time placing a hand to his forehead, “Please stop talking about him… I don’t care about him, okay? That was a one time thing. I don’t- Let’s please not fight about him anymore.”

“I never meant to fight with you,” Stan whispered, soft-pedaling. He studied Kyle’s body language and the way he folded in on himself, his frown deepening. Stan’s gut clenched when he saw the boot around Kyle’s ankle, and remembered the five block distance between their houses, “Wait a minute… Did you  _ walk _ here?”

Kyle nodded hesitantly, almost like he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Oh my God…” Stan wasn’t even mortified. He was just deeply saddened, “Why would you do such a thing? I would have picked you up if you only called.”

“I don’t have my phone,” Kyle hiccupped, “And I just- I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t really know what I was doing. I just needed to get out of there…”

“...Kyle?”

Kyle pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, “I shouldn’t’ve come here.”

“What are you talking about? Of course you should have, you’re welcome here, always. You’re safe here,” Stan assured, gingerly stroking that safe spot on his back.

“I shouldn’t’ve come  _ here _ specifically, I really should have gone somewhere else-”

“-Kyle-”

“-I wasn’t thinking when I left,” Kyle winced as he tightened his grasp on his forehead, “I know that’s so unlike me. To just  _ not think.  _ I was being stupid, I just-... I just needed to get out of there.”

“Why?”

“Stan, I don’t think I should-”

“-You can tell me,” Stan said softly.

Kyle looked at him meekly, his green eyes watery around the edges when he confessed, “Something bad happened...”

“Bad?”

“Yeah… Something bad happened.”

“How bad?”

“I’d say pretty goddamn bad, but I don’t know, that’s just my stupid opinion.”

“Does this have anything to do with Ike having that conversation with your parents?” Stan asked, rubbing that safe spot on Kyle’s back in support.

“Yeah, he- um,” Kyle sniffled again, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, “May I have a tissue, please?”

“Oh my God, of course!” Stan almost cried, “You silly thing, of course! Why would you even ask? Yes, of course. Hold on. Just a sec.”

He unwrapped himself from the blanket to run to the bathroom, where he ended up grabbing the whole box.

When he returned, he found that Kyle was not sitting on the bed anymore, he was now lying down on the floor. But the image didn’t scare Stan, not like it had back at Tegridy Farms, because Kyle was conscious and he was lying face-up, wrapped up in the blankets.

Maybe Ike hadn’t been lying when he said that Kyle lied on the floor a lot at home.

Stan got down on the floor next to him and handed over the box of tissues.

After wiping his nose, Kyle set a tissue aside and looked up at Stan’s popcorn ceiling. His eyes were red and watery when he gave a gyrated sigh and said, “So, um… Remember how this week at school, we only ever saw Ike that Monday? Like, he was supposed to share our lunch block. But we only saw him that one time, and that was it.”

“Yeah, I loved it,” Stan smiled.

Kyle didn’t laugh.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood. Please tell me what happened.”

“I- I don’t know if I should.”

“I’m listening.”

“You never listen.”

“But I’m listening.”

“You  _ never _ listen.”

“I  _ am _ listening, I’m listening right now! I really want to help you. I love you, man, I’m listening.”

Kyle gave a weak smile. Stan couldn’t tell if it was forced or genuine. Kyle just looked really tired.

So Stan alleviated him the best he could by smiling back. Sincerely.

Kyle nodded, taking a breath before he said, “So, um, apparently he was spending his lunch breaks and all his free time taking a bunch of tests. The tests he didn’t get to take all year ‘cause he didn’t start as a senior, he was catching up on all of those. So, um… On Friday he got some results back and, um-”

-Kyle shuddered. He looked like he was about to start crying again, but he managed to spit out, “Ike won valedictorian.”

Stan’s jaw dropped.

“He, um-... He won valedictorian. He took the test, and he got a really high score. The highest score of anyone in Colorado ever, actually. He won. So Wendy’s s-salutatorian now. Which means that I’m-…” Kyle bit down on his chapped lower lip, “-I’m not anything anymore.”

“Oh, Kyle,” Stan whimpered. He wished he were more eloquent. He had no idea what else to say besides: “I’m so sorry.”

“And so he tells my mom and dad, he tells them about what he accomplished and they were so proud of him. They love him so much. A-And then Leslie drops me off, so I walk in through the door and I see them, and I see the way they look at me,” Kyle sobbed, clutching his forehead in his hands, “And I know it’s stupid to hate disappointing your parents, I  _ know  _ it’s stupid, but I hate it, okay? I do. I hate it. I hate the way they  _ look _ at me when I make them mad, a-a-and then I get in trouble, and I just- I  _ can’t, _ okay? I  _ can’t!” _

Stan rolled to his side on the carpet floor, “Did you-... God, I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like an ass. You know, I’ve wanted to talk about this for days now, but there was never the right time. I just- Kyle, did your parents get mad and beat you?”

Kyle still had his hands locked onto his forehead. He was clutching it tightly, manically, almost as if he feared it would fall apart if he let go. He sobbed again when he answered, “They got mad, yeah. They got really, really mad. Especially my dad. And I just- I hate it when I make them mad. I hate it!”

“But did your dad  _ beat  _ you?”

“No.”

Stan sat up from the floor, “Kyle, I don’t know where this habit of lying came from, but you need to stop covering for him if he-”

_ “-Shit,  _ Stan! Listen to me!” Kyle sobbed, his tears flowing like a hydrant, “My dad’s barely ever home, okay?! He’s distant! He-He’s just been going through a lot lately. He lost his job, so he’s at home all the time now. So he just drinks, ‘cause he has nothing else to do...”

“Wait, your dad got fired?”

“Laid off, yeah.”

“What, seriously? The last time I saw him, he said he was only taking the day off!”

“I think he’s in denial,” Kyle sniveled, “He got fired. His firm let go of, like, half the workforce because of COVID. The stupid government still hasn’t given him his unemployment benefits. S-So he’s been really stressed. And I think the bus accident might have pushed him over the edge… I’m not used to seeing him so much during the day, so it’s kind of weird for me, too. I feel really bad for him, I do, b-but it’s not like there’s much I can do...”

“Damn,” Stan was practically speechless, “Damn, I’m real sorry, Kyle. Wow. Um. Are- Are you guys doing okay? Like, do you need money or something? I’m sure my parents have some to spare-”

“-No, we’re good on money,” Kyle let out a sad laugh, “We’re fucking Jewish. You know we have plenty in the bank. Thank you, though.”

“Of course, Kyle. Anything for you.”

“Thanks…”

“You’re welcome… So, like,” Stan felt like his stomach was doing somersaults, “Your dad doesn’t abuse you, then? Only your brother?”

Kyle let go of his forehead now, “Ike? He’s fourteen.”

“So?”

“So? He can’t do anything.”

“He gives you illegal drugs.”

“...I didn’t know you knew about that.”

“He drugs you.”

“He- He doesn’t.”

“He drugs you.”

“No, he doesn’t, Stan. He only-” Kyle went still.

Stan’s heart stopped, “What is it?”

“Never mind.”

“Kyle.”

“I’m serious. Never mind. You don’t listen to me. There’s no point anymore,” Kyle sat up from the floor, awkwardly arching his back as he struggled to sit up properly, “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I fucking  _ knew _ I should have gone somewhere else, but I just didn’t trust my gut and I-”

“-Kyle, where are you going?” Stan cried, his breath hitched when he watched Kyle stand up from the floor.

“I don’t know why I thought you’d be different today!” Kyle cried, limping towards the bedroom door, “You’re different now than how you were before! You can’t even let me emote without assailing me and my family, I don’t understand why you-”

-Stan slammed his bedroom door shut before he could leave, “Kyle! What’re you saying?”

“It’s like you don’t care about real life anymore! You- You’re just trapped in some fucked up, delusional world you’ve created, and you can’t accept reality!” Kyle screamed in a fiery passion, “You can’t accept the things you do to me, and you can’t accept the things I do on my own accord! It’s like you-”

-Stan made a move to reach out and grab him, but Kyle reacted unexpectedly.

Kyle collapsed.

He dropped down onto his knees on the carpet floor, clutching his stomach as he vomited. He was conscious, but he was barely apperceptive. He convulsed as he hunched over, purging up mountains of bile.

Stan gagged at the stench but nonetheless, he got down by his side. Once again, he lifted a hand out to touch Kyle as a way of comfort, but he just flinched away.

“Please, stop-!” Kyle coughed, twitching and spazzing, “P-Please stop! I hate it when you touch me, I hate it! Y-You’re not  _ nice _ anymore, Stan! P-Please stop. Please stop…”

He hacked up again over the carpet, making Stan wince in pity when he realized that Kyle was vomiting nothing but stomach acid.

“Kyle, have you been eating at all?” he asked delicately, keeping his hands to himself, “That’s just bile…”

Kyle coughed again, wiping his mouth. He shook his head, “No. Not- Not really…”

“Why not?”

“Don’ wan’ eat food that’ll make me p-puke… I hate puking…”

Something sunk inside Stan’s chest. 

“You’ve been puking a lot lately,” he said gingerly. He sat with his legs crossed.

“I’ve been stressed a lot lately…”

“You never used to throw up this much before, even when you were stressed out.”

“Well, I’ve been sick, Stan,” Kyle sobbed. He sat up, wiping at his face with some of the tissues, “God, I’m a mess. I’ve been sick, I’ve been stressed, a-and I’ve been really scared, and a lot has happened to me in the last few days, Stan… it- It’s so- It’s just-”

“-It’s just a lot to  _ process, _ right?” Stan proposed.

“Yeah…”

Stan almost moved closer to him on the floor, but decided better of it. He remained seated placidly when he asked, “Do you really hate it when I touch you? I noticed you’ve been a little finicky when I do lately, but you never said anything about it, so I just assumed you were fine. I thought maybe you were only sensitive after DKA or something.”

Kyle didn’t answer. He just kept wiping at his face disgustedly, keeping his gaze low.

“Kyle?”

He winced at hearing his name, but didn’t say anything at all. He just dropped the tissues in his hand and let them fall to the ground.

“Kyle, why’re you going silent on me?”

“There’s no point.”

“What do you mean ‘there’s no point?’”

“There’s no point in trying to talk to you anymore. You don’t listen, you just get upset, and then you do something crazy like make me puke or tie me up to a van,” Kyle said defeatedly. He held his forehead in his hands again and bore down on his hold, refusing to look Stan in the eye.

Stan felt his spirits dampen inside of him. It was as though Kyle’s words brought him down and tore him apart from the inside. He swore he could actually feel his heart melt, dissolving into wishy washy pieces that weighed down his chest.

“Oh, Kyle,” Stan started, his voice distorted, “I’m sorry.”

“About the van?” Kyle sniffed, grimacing as he looked down at his injured wrists, “You’re only sorry that the ties cut me up, and that Leslie took me home. You’re not sorry you did it.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Stan pleaded, “About- About everything.”

Kyle met his gaze now.

With a sinking feeling residing inside him, Stan noticed that the fire in Kyle’s eyes was completely gone. His jade-colored irises were so void of vitality they looked like they had been dead for years. They were clouded, hopeless. And it broke Stan’s heart to see from the outside.

“Everything, huh?” Kyle repeated. He shook his head, “That’s a lot, you know.”

“I know,” Stan swallowed, the back of his throat slippery and vile, “There’s- I didn’t-... I- I never meant for any of this to happen. I was only ever trying to be your super best friend…”

Kyle sighed, “Dude…”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just-”

“-We’re  _ still _ super best friends…”

Stan paused.

“I’m sorry, what?” Stan asked, his heart already starting to skip beats. He didn’t even know if he heard correctly or incorrectly, but he felt himself already ignite into excitement.

“... Well… I think friends are hard to find in general. Best friends are almost impossible to come across.  _ Super _ best friends, though, they’ve got to only come once in a lifetime. I don’t-” he laughed sadly, “-This is gonna sound dumb. I don’t think our friendship is something we can just walk away from. I mean, after  _ everything _ we’ve been through…”

“...It’s a lot,” Stan offered a small smile.

Kyle gave a small one back, “You’re right. It is a lot.”

“I’m really, really sorry, Kyle.”

“...Okay. I think I can forgive you,” Kyle wrapped his arms around himself, “But you need to make some changes. And I’m sick of saying that, Stan. I want this to be the last time I have to say it. I really need you to do this for me, dude.”

Stan’s mouth went dry, “I will. I, uh-... I want to hear what you have to say.”

Kyle tilted his head to the side, some red curls draping over the side of his face prettily. He looked Stan’s face up and down before he softly asked, “Are you gonna go crazy and try to grab me again? I don’t- I don’t know how much more of that I can take.”

“I’m going to listen,” Stan pledged, “I swear I am.”

“Stan, I mean it,” Kyle puled earnestly, “I really don’t think I can take much more of your…  _ unexpected _ behavior. We’re already at the point where it’s making me physically sick. I can’t take- I-... I think if it happened again, I’m going to break down. And I’m serious about that.”

“I’m listening. I want to let you talk, right here, right now, you say everything you want to say. And I’m not going to say a single thing until you finish. I won’t even open my mouth.”

“You promise?”

“I’ll do you one better. I  _ swear. _ On my life and yours,” Stan vowed, “Now tell me everything.”

For the second time that day, Kyle’s reaction was completely unexpected.

Kyle started bawling. He tried covering his eyes with his hands, but there wasn’t any point, because Stan could clearly see the tears that erupted like rivers as he cried.

Stan panicked. This wasn’t right at all. Kyle was not a regular crier, not at all, but this was now the third time he was in tears just today, and Stan didn’t know what to do. He had thought he just made everything okay between the two of them, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“Oh God,” Stan choked, “Oh God, what’d I do, Kyle? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I was only trying to show you that I’m going to listen this time… Oh, God, I’m sorry. Kyle, I’m sorry, what’d I-”

“-No!”

Stan was caught off guard when he realized that Kyle was smiling through his tears.   
Kyle was blushing, tears streaming down his face, but he was smiling when he said, “God, shut up, you stupid brute! I’m fucking- Shit, don’t be sorry,  _ I’m  _ sorry!”

“Why are you crying?” Stan asked, his hysteria far from alleviated.

“I don’t know! I- I just didn’t expect you to be so-... I don’t know! I don’t know, I don’t know,” Kyle cried and whimpered, rubbing his face with his hands. He threw himself against Stan, who quickly moved to comfort him.

Stan held him gently, very much conscious of his vulnerable state, and did his best to be soothing in his hold.

Kyle actually responded well to the physical contact, much to Stan’s delighted surprise. He crawled in closer, clasping his arms around Stan’s breadth and holding onto him like he was scared. Stan could feel him trembling against his chest, so he drew him in closer, wrapping his arms around him like there was no tomorrow.

“Stan, you’re my super best friend, you know that, right dude?” Kyle murmured. His words were half malformed because he had his face pressed against Stan’s chest, but the candor in his voice was so evident that Stan felt his heart soar all the same.

“Yes, of course, Kyle,” Stan said back, “I’m listening. You can tell me everything. I won’t say one word.”

Kyle sniffed, “Where do you want me to start?”

“Wherever makes you comfortable.”

Kyle whimpered for a while longer. He took his time to collect his breath and get his breathing to return to a regular rhythm. Stan didn’t rush him. He just held him close and let him take his time.

When Kyle was ready, he took a deep breath and started to speak, his voice growing stronger and surer with every word, “So, um, you already know pretty much what happened last night. The guy and I kissed. I know we shouldn’t have, I know it jeopardized my health, but I couldn’t help myself, okay? I’m sure that sounds pathetic. Feel free to bash me for being a simp by the end of this. But I just really wanted it. ... That-”

He shuddered in Stan’s arms, “-That was my first kiss. My first real one. I liked it. … But then you went all berserk and you scared everyone. I understand why you did what you did, dude, but it was just- You crossed the line. Everyone was so… startled. So I tried to get us to leave. I, um, I had Kenny take the guy to the hospital. So if you didn’t see either of them when you ran back inside, that’s why.”

Stan didn’t say it out loud, of course, but he wished that Kyle had told him that before he wasted several hours rummaging through that hotel while his super best friend was still outside in that parking lot. But he just kept it as a mental note to himself.

He just rubbed that safe spot on Kyle’s back, silently urging him to go on.

“And so you went back to the party to look for him, I guess. I, um, I don’t know how long you were in there, but you didn’t come back out before I left. Leslie found me, like, half an hour after you went back inside,” Kyle sniveled, “At least, I think it was half an hour. It could have been longer or shorter, I don’t really know for sure. It- It just- It was just really dark. And kinda cold. And really scary. I was really scared, dude, and I know how pitiful that sounds. I know you wouldn’t scare me on purpose, b-but you did something absolutely crazy… I don’t-... Please never do that to me again. Please. I mean, I’m sure my wrists will heal, but just the  _ memories,  _ Stan... I don’t even know what was more terrifying: the fact that I was tied up to a van all alone in the dead of night or the fact that you thought it was okay to do that to me…”

Kyle looked dazed for a moment, before he snapped himself out of it and went on, “Anyway, Leslie came. I don’t know what the hell was running through her head when she found me, but I’m not going to lie, I didn’t give her much to work with. I was really quiet. I didn’t really tell her what happened or answer any of her questions. I was probably being a really shitty friend. Which sucks  _ ass, _ you know? Like, I was trying  _ so hard _ to be her friend again during that dance… I really missed her over the years. A lot. I just wanted to reconnect, but I feel like I might have blown it…”

He took in a shaky breath but pressed on, “But she was really nice. More nice than she probably should have been. She got the fucking zip-ties off and drove me home. That was the last I saw of her. She went back to her house, I guess, and I went to mine. A-And when I walked in, and my family was in the kitchen. I think my mom was making a cake for Ike, even at that hour. And they didn’t even have to say anything, I just knew from the way my mom and dad looked at me that I did something w-wrong. They-... They told me that-...”

Kyle took his arms away from Stan in a quick jerk. He slammed his palms into his forehead and cried,  _ “God, _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stan, this- This is just  _ hard-...” _

Stan wanted so desperately to reach out and comfort him, but he knew Kyle didn’t want it. He was already so troubled, and he’s made it clear his problems with touch.

So as much as Stan hated it, he just had to sit back and clench his jaw shut while his super best friend tried to hold himself together just in front of him.

Kyle took a few deep breaths. He kept his hands firmly against the sides of his forehead when he pushed on, “Ike got valedictorian. I- I could tell that he was proud of it, and really, he should be proud. I wish I could be proud of him, too. But I could tell that he also pitied me. I mean, he just looked so  _ condescending. _ And that’s  _ hard, _ you know? That’s just h-hard coming from your little brother. B-But to be fair, he was trying to be supportive of me, he was trying to not rub it in. He-He doesn’t really do that. It’s not really his thing to try to pick someone else up when they’re down, s-so I really appreciated it, actually. But- But with how proud Mom and Dad were, it still hurt. A lot. They were so fucking proud of him… And so disappointed in me. And mad at me.”

Kyle took his hands away from his forehead to wipe at his face, which was ridden with tears and mucus. If he even remembered that a box of tissues lied at his side, he didn’t utilize it. He just used his hands to wipe away all his misery, and then he lied back against Stan’s lap, looking up at him from below.

“Before you ask,” Kyle visibly swallowed, “No, they didn’t ‘beat me.’ Your words. Not mine. They’ve been going easy on me since the bus accident. And Ike-”

-Kyle started gagging, his body seizing upward from Stan’s lap.

Stan lurched out to help him, preparing for Kyle to throw up. But as soon as he started, he stopped, and Kyle settled back down defeatedly.

“Sorry, dude, I don’t know what that was about. Maybe I was gonna p-puke, I don’t know,” Kyle shuddered again, “Ike exaggerated. That time at the farmhouse? When he said that he’d be fine if I get beaten when I get home? That was an exaggeration; he was upset, so he made some stuff up. My parents have never beaten me. I’ve gotten slapped, sure. Roughed up a few times with a shoe or a belt, once even a clothing hanger. You know. Little things like that. But only when I fucking deserved it.”

Stan released an audible cry.

Kyle’s attention snapped upwards.

Stan covered his mouth with his hands. He hadn’t meant to make a single sound. He swore he would let Kyle have this moment. But he couldn’t help himself. He was unhinged. He was absolutely devastated. And what was even worse on top of all of this was Kyle’s bleak demeanour as he opened up. It was like he didn’t even care that he was confessing his worst private horrors.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said softly, “I know you’re sensitive about all of this. I shouldn’t say it so boldly. But I- I deserved it this time… I let them down. I didn’t give them anything. I-”

-Kyle gagged like he was going to vomit again, but just like last time, he didn’t.

A filled silence floated through the bedroom, Kyle rested on the floor, his head in Stan’s lap as they looked in each other’s eyes, the both of them still beside the repulsive stomach acid on the carpet.

There were so many things Stan wanted to say. On the inside, he was seething and frothing with words of malice, words of outrage, but most essentially, words of apology. If only he could speak, he would ramble, and cry, and scream, and shout until he couldn’t think of another thing to say, all the while Kyle would be safe in his arms.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t speak. He swore he wouldn’t on his life and Kyle’s life.

So he remained stoic. He just held Kyle and wordlessly puled for him to go on.

“I don’t think my parents abuse me,” Kyle sniffed, wiping at his nose with the sleeves of Butters’s coat, “N-Not really. My mom- um. T-The thing at the doctor’s office with my back injury? I think she just didn’t want to waste any more money on me. You know how my family is with money, and that day she already paid for the ambulance, the X-rays, the cast, and that was j-just a lot. It was a lot. They, um. M-My mom and dad don’t really like to spend money on me. Finances are a privilege. You have to earn them. That’s why Ike-... Well, I don’t know if you’ve seen his room. He, um, he has nice things. He’s earned them.”

Yes. Stan has seen Ike’s room, and he was aware of all his expensive possessions. The sight of Ike’s bedroom had startled him, but not to the point where he wanted to ask questions. Stan should have known better.

“Yeah, so, my dad made that rule, that finances are a privilege,” Kyle sniveled, readjusting his position in Stan’s hold, “He, um, you know he’s the only one who works in my family. H-He’s the one putting food on the table. So what he says goes, you know? He doesn’t beat me. He just, you know, hits me. W-When I’ve done something wrong. Like when I didn’t get valedictorian, and when I got back from Laramie, a-and today…”

Kyle took a deep breath, “To be honest, I don’t fucking blame him, though. I showed up at our doorstep in between four and five in the morning without telling anyone where I had been or why I was home so late, a girl they didn’t even remember was the one who dropped me off, and I came home all panicked with my wrists jacked up. I-I probably scared the shit out of them. …or maybe not. They were drinking wine and making a cake for Ike. So they were busy, I guess, they- they might not have noticed… Sometimes I feel like they don’t care.”

Stan hugged him. He didn’t know how Kyle would react; he could have exploded into hysteria for all Stan knew, but he needed to hug him.

Kyle yelped, but only at the suddenness of the gesture.

He quickly calmed down and returned the hug, leaning into the embrace and releasing his tension.

“Thanks, Stan,” Kyle sniffed.

“Anything for you,” Stan said. He gulped when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to talk at all.

Kyle must have seen the panic in Stan’s eyes, because he instantly soft-pedaled, “Hey, it’s okay, Stan. I- I think I’m done anyway. Thanks for listening, dude.”

“Of course, anything for you,” Stan repeated.

“I mean it, thanks for listening. You don’t- You don’t really do that. Especially recently. So I appreciate it.”

“Do- Do you-” Stan stammered. He pulled back from the hug to try to look at Kyle, but he found himself blubbering like an idiot, “Would you hate it if I asked a few questions? I mean, I don’t have to if you don’t want me to, I just- I don’t know. I guess I was just wondering if-”

“-Go ahead, Stan,” Kyle assured softly, “You’ve been really patient. I think you deserve it at this point. It was probably really crappy of me to throw you under the bus with all of that. I’m sure I wasn’t making a lot of sense; questions are probably warranted.”

“Do they-” a lump rose in Stan’s throat, “Do they do anything else to you?”

Kyle blanched ghost white.

“What is it?”

“My, um,” Kyle took a shaky breath when he confessed, “My dad takes pictures of me sometimes.”

“Pictures?” Stan’s gut twisted, “You don’t mean-”

“-Yeah,” Kyle wrapped his arms around himself and looked away, “N-Not all the time. I-It’s not really a regular thing, he barely ever does it, actually. But still, um, he’s d-done it before. He- um. Yeah…”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah.”

Stan couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to not see it before. Gerald Broflovksi was the same villainous man responsible for the  _ Skankhunt42 _ crisis, an event whose aftermath still plagued the town to this day. He was an Internet predator, and that had been proved  _ several _ times in the past. But still he went around town like everything was fine, like he had two halves of himself: the small-town simple man and the Internet evildoer.

Not to mention, there was that awful memory that remained in Stan’s head when Gerald had almost hit him, but he didn’t for reasons unknown. And then there was that destitute look on Kyle’s face when he said his dad was “up late last night;” Stan hadn’t thought to ask  _ what _ he was doing when he was up late. And what was worse was that scene in the dining room; Gerald was standing there hunched over, his hands macabrely squeezing Kyle’s shoulders, while Kyle was just staring at the ground, as if pretending everything was okay.

Why had Stan not picked up on any of the signs sooner?

With the stench of bile protruding his nose and the godforsaken illicit memories flashing through his head, Stan tried to process the fact that somewhere out there, someone owned images of his super best friend. Exploited. Susceptible. Underage. Naked.

Stan felt like he was going to vomit, too.

“Kyle, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t say it like it’s your fault.”

“It almost is,” Stan felt himself tearing up, “I was so worried about you this week, I-I was doing everything in my power to protect you. But I still didn’t even know how bad you had it. I thought I was keeping you safe, but I just… Kyle, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he fake-smiled, “You’ve done plenty.”

It went unsaid that Kyle’s statement was a two-edged sword.

Stan wiped at his eyes furiously now. He was close to crying and he loathed it. He was a constant crier, that was something unavoidable, but now was not the time to let go. His super best friend was here in his lap, more open and more weak than he had ever been before. If anything, Kyle should be the one crying, while Stan should just sit here and be his anchor.

Kyle must have noticed, “You can cry if you want to, dude. I’m not gonna judge.”

“No,” Stan pulled him in closer, locking his arms around him protectively, “No, I’m not gonna. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kyle whispered.

All of a sudden, Kyle felt really, really small in Stan’s arms; worryingly small. It could have been because they were now in their own ne plus ultra, or alternatively because he had underestimated just how ill Kyle really was.

In either case, Stan was petrified with woe. He was practically tormented with regret because he had failed; he had failed to protect him. Even after all the laughs they shared, all the late night texts, all the trials they faced, and all the promises Stan made, he still managed to lose sight of the only thing in his life he wanted to keep safe.

“I’m gonna do better,” Stan said, his arms around Kyle’s body unrelenting.

“Good,” was the only thing Kyle said.

“I’m gonna protect you better. And I’m gonna treat you better, so no more zip-ties, or touches that you don’t like, or anything like that.”

“...Stan?”

“Yes? What do you need?”

Kyle’s green eyes were glazed over, his mind clearly elsewhere. He was leaning with his whole body against Stan’s chest, letting himself be held in warmth and security. Kyle yawned softly before whispering, “I opened up… so you have to go to counseling now, okay? It was our deal.”

Stan went still, “Kyle, I-”

-It was then that he noticed that Kyle had fallen asleep in his arms.

It was endearing at first, but then Stan recalled the fact that Kyle hadn’t slept a wink since the hotel; not Bebe’s hotel, the hotel back in Laramie.

As he slept, Stan took the time to scrutinize the bruises still prominent on his face, the foundation makeup starting to smudge away. He could see the blackened marks around the base of Kyle’s skull. These gut-wrenching blemishes were normally covered up by his hair or hat, but here they were on full display as they sat holding each other next to a pile of vomit and bile.

The guilt Stan felt was indescribable. He had felt guilty several times before, but not like this. This kind of guilt was too much, he couldn’t take it.

And he  _ wouldn’t _ take it.

Stan was going to do better. His mom told him to do the right thing. And he would.


	25. Chapter 25

_ “Shitfuck!” _ Kenny McCormick cried, a video game controller in his hands, as he watched his character die on the screen.

_ “Language!”  _ came the deeply upset voice of Butters from the next bedroom over.

Kenny responded by pounding on the wall that separated their rooms, “It doesn’t matter, your fuckin’ parents aren’t home!”

_ “Still! I don’t like crude language!”  _ Butters called back.

Over their teenage years, they developed the habit of shouting to each other from across the house instead of exerting the three seconds worth of effort it took to walk to the same room. It was sluggish, yes, and only halfway effective for conversation. But Kenny was a bag of lazy bones and Butters was only ever running around the house doing chores or grounded in his bedroom, so the system worked for them. They didn’t complain, even though it drove Butters’ parents up the wall.

“Well, your parents ain’t fuckin’ home, and I’m fuckin’ frustrated, so I’m gonna run my fuckin’ trap with shit words! I. Am.  _ Frustrated! _ ” Kenny shouted. He threw his game controller down on the mattress and kicked Butters’ wall. He didn’t do it to cause damage, he only kicked lightly to annoy Butters, who shunned loud noises just as much as he did curse words.

Catching him very much by surprise, Kenny’s bedroom door swung open.

Groaning, Kenny rolled out of bed, “Jesus Christ, Butters, don’t get upset. I was only poking fun at-”

-Just now he realized it wasn’t Butters in his doorway.

Ike Broflovski stood in a poised manner, observing Kenny with unsubtle arbitrariness. Hanging over his shoulder he carried a university-style satchel. Snorting a little, Ike said, “So I hear you’re frustrated.”

“Wow!” Kenny laughed in surprise, “I haven’t seen you in a while! How’d you get here?”

“I rode my bike. Your sister let me in,” Ike explained. He took off his shoes and tucked them neatly in the corner. Then, without asking permission, he sat himself down on a chair and started unloading the many contents of his satchel.

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Kenny rolled his eyes, “No, but seriously. I haven’t seen you in a while. Not even in school. Where’ve you been?”

“Taking tests.”

“Fun stuff,” Kenny blew air out of his lips, slouching on his bed, “Shit’s got really bad with Stan and Kyle. You’ve missed a lot.”

“So have you, McCormick. So have you.”

“You’ve missed more.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

“On jaw. Deadass you missed more,” Kenny said. He hopped off his mattress and went to his dresser drawer, where he took out his e-cigarette, “Some crazy shit happened last night. You literally missed a near-death brawl.”

“You missed Kyle’s wrists being slashed.”

He dropped his e-cigarette.

“Okay, either I’m high or you just said-”

“-I said exactly what you think I said,” Ike paused before adding, “You could be high, though. You don’t quite look yourself.”

“I don’t feel myself, man,” Kenny admitted, grabbing tufts of his hair in exhausted frustration, “I feel like crap. I didn’t sleep last night, a lot of stuff went down. It got really bad...”

Kenny actually had to sit back down on his bed to keep his head from reeling.

He knew that Ike wasn’t one to tell a lie, so he had to accept that in some way, shape, or form that his words had to be true. Kyle’s wrists were slashed.

Kenny could barely grasp the concept. Being hit by a bus was already awful, then there was the life-threatening illness, followed by the harrowing bruises, and now there was  _ this _ issue on the table. It made him feel dizzy just trying to process the thought of it. He was aware that Kyle was already in a bad place, and he knew that with Stan’s influence, he was only going to get worse and worse, but he had no idea that Kyle would try something as harrowing as hurting himself. Self-destructive frenzies were something prone to  _ Stan’s _ behavior, not Kyle’s.

Maybe that meant Stan was starting to rub off on Kyle.

Unless Kyle wasn’t the one who did it.

With a trembling voice, Kenny piped up, “What do you mean the Kylie-B’s wrists were slashed? Does that mean, like… self-harm? Or-...”

“I don’t know.”

That sentence alone sent a chill down Kenny’s spine. Ike was the kid genius who knew everything. If they were already at a point where Ike didn’t know-

“-I don’t think so, though. I don’t think my brother is into that sort of thing,” Ike started, prying Kenny from his thoughts, “See, Gerald, Sheila, and I were up late last night, and Kyle didn’t come home until about 4:15. I don’t know how he got home, but I saw a van drive off after he came inside. He and his parents got into a dispute, which is rational, you know, after he showed up at that hour.”

Ike wasn’t looking at Kenny anymore. It was like he was locked in the memory. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Anyway, after their dispute, I went to his bedroom to check up on him, and then I saw his wrists,” Ike’s expression went stern and cold, “It’s difficult to describe the sight of them. They weren’t even clean cuts, either. It was like someone took a jack-knife and just hacked away until he broke out in hives and blisters. It was-... It was not a pleasant sight.”

“Ew,” Kenny tasted bile in the back of his throat.

“What’s the matter?”

“Just threw up in my mouth a bit. Poor Kylie-B.”

“I don’t even know what to make of it,” Ike went on, “I cleaned up what I could of his wrists and I asked him again and again what happened, but he didn’t want to speak. Just like when he came back after Marsh took him away last time, he just shut himself up. He was really stressed, so I told him to sleep and I would check on him in the morning. When morning came, I went to his room, and he was nowhere to be found.”

Kenny’s veins went cold, “Wait. Waitwaitwait. Whaddya mean?”

“I mean he was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“Like,  _ gone _ gone?”

Ike pulled a strange face, “Gone. Verb. Past participle form of ‘go.’ What else could you possibly mean?”

“I don’t know, I just-” Kenny took a deep breath, “Damn.”

“Quite,” Ike looked at the floor, “I’m not sure what to make of it. My only theory is that Marsh got to him again, but I didn’t hear a car pull up at all last night.”

“His car’s broken, he must’ve walked,” Kenny grumbled, lowering his face in his hands.

“That’s odd.”

“That he’d walk? People walk, you know. It’s kind of a thing people do.”

“No, it’s odd that you agree with me. I never thought you’d so willingly succumb to the idea that Marsh is the perpetrator here,” Ike said, his dark eyes vast, “You were always the neutral party. What’s changed for you, McCormick?”

“Welp,” Kenny sighed, “Like I said, you missed a lot.”

“Enlighten me,” Ike demanded, pulling out a notebook and a pen.

“Seriously?”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know, I just thought you would already know everything. Did Kyle not tell you what’s been going on recently?”

“My brother has yet to spill a single word about anything,” Ike said, slight irritation biting his tone, “I can’t help but wonder if Marsh has done something to force him to keep quiet.”

“Honestly, at this point, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to believe,” Kenny grumbled. It disturbed him how nonchalantly they were talking. Everything about this whole crisis was so terribly disturbing, but here they were, casually talking about the mental deterioration of one of his best friends.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Okay, Ike. What do you already know about Bebe’s party?”

“I know that it happened,” Ike stated, his hand poised and ready to write, “I know Kyle went there after he got his cast put in a boot, and that it was held in the Stevens’ hotel. That’s about all I know.”

“Well, you’re in for a fun story. Buckle up,” Kenny grumbled. He went on pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to recount all the important details he could, “Okay, so, let’s see here… Way, way back on Monday, me and the boys were eating lunch together like we always do. I was sitting next to the Kylie-B ‘cause I missed him and I didn’t expect to see him at school at all, actually. I was very surprised to see him there, but I loved it, don’t get me wrong. And, you know, since we were sitting together, I was pretty close so I could see-... Well, I’m sure you’ve seen it. The back of his neck?”

“Yes, right at the base of his skull,” Ike sighed, “It’s ghastly.”

“Yeah… I really thought I knew who Stan was, but just that sight made me reconsider everything,” Kenny licked his lips, his thoughts jumbling chaotically, “Anyway, I finally caught on after I saw that bruise. Pissed me the fuck off. Ever since then, I tried keeping tabs on the Kylie-B and I did my best to keep them separated at school, but as you can probably imagine-”

“-Nevertheless she persisted.”

Kenny tilted his head to the side, “Who’s ‘she?’”

Ike rolled his eyes, “Famous quote. Don’t worry about it. Go on.”

“Ay caramba,” Kenny sighed. He flopped down on the bed and groaned, “Anyway, yeah. Stan  _ persisted _ in keeping Kyle at his hip twenty-four-seven. Even at the party they were--  _ Wait!  _ No, even  _ before _ the party, Stan was acting weird! He got all spazzed out about Kyle wearing a coat or something, so he was freaking out, and he got all grabby, and he threatened to leave! Before we even went inside!”

“I did notice when Kyle came home he had someone else’s coat.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what the fuck that was about. But that’s how it went down.”

“Whose coat is it?”

“My good ol’ foster brother’s,” Kenny knocked on the wall between their bedrooms again.

In response, Butters shouted back,  _ “Stop doing that! You’re gonna put dents in the wall and I’m gonna get grounded ‘cause of you!” _

“He’s pissed at me about it,” Kenny smiled sadly, “He really liked that coat.”

“I’m sure he’ll get it back after we fix this situation,” Ike said flatly. He didn’t even pretend to care. He read over the notes he had written down, “Go on, would you? Why did he come home so late?”

“You know, I don’t really know. The last thing that I remember happening was literally a shitshow,” Kenny ran a hand through his mussy hair, “Okay, so picture this. Kyle’s finally having fun for the first time in a long time, right? Like, legit fun. Not only that, but he’s slow dancing with a hot guy. I was so proud. So he’s over there, having it out like a  _ king, _ while Stan’s seemingly minding his own business on the other side of the lobby. Then for, like, no reason at all, he just runs up and straight punches the guy.”

“Who punches who and why?”

Kenny used his hands as he spoke,  _ “Stan _ runs up and beats the snot out of the guy Kyle was dancing with. For, like, no reason! And he just hammers into the guy! He doesn’t even give him a chance to defend himself, he just beats up his face ‘til he’s literally bleeding all over the floor.”

He felt himself cringe at the memory. Something about that whole night was just plaguing.

Fights were nothing out of the ordinary for parties, especially Bebe’s parties. Kenny knew because he had been involved in a few of them. Even when they were extreme, fights were always treated as a sort of sport. Partygoers in this town loved them. Crowds always went wild with excitement, and people often pushed to the front to see them up close. Sometimes, people even placed bets.

But something was different about this fight, and everyone who was there that night knew it.

Maybe it was because their famous-but-humble star quarterback was the one who initiated it, maybe it was because the North Park kid wasn’t even given a chance to defend himself, or maybe it was simply because it started during the otherwise placid slow-dance, but for whatever reason it was, that attack was a burdensome memory that the kids of this town would have to carry on their shoulders forever.

Kenny hardly knew how to process it. Stan had gotten himself thrown into fights before, sure, he could accept that; (as previously stated, Kenny had been in fights too, so he had no room to judge.) But Stan had never ever been one to initiate an attack before, he was only ever defending himself or somebody else. He had integrity.

Or so Kenny thought.

Stan didn’t even fight fairly. He didn’t give the guy a chance to defend himself. All of this on top of the fact that he didn’t have a justifiable reason to attack him.

At least, Kenny didn’t think it was justifiable. He saw Kyle kiss the North Park kid, of course.   
In truth, Kenny knew deep down that Stan had a very valid point when he said Kyle should stay away from strangers. First of all, staying away from strangers is a basic childhood law. Secondly, there was Kyle’s illness. Kenny didn’t even know if Kyle recovered from it; Stan said that he did, but Kyle still looked really sick and he acted like it, too. So really, it might have been better for him if he stayed away from that guy, but did just a smidge of exposure warrant so much violence?

No, it didn’t. It really didn’t. Stan was entirely out of line in the effort he took to protect his super best friend. He attacked an innocent young man and terrified more than one hundred kids who were only there to have fun, including Kyle.

That was another thing that was concerning.

Kyle had been the bravest one there out of all of them. He was the only one in the entire crowd who tried to pull Stan back, and he paid the price for it when he got kicked back. Not only that, but Kyle put himself in even more danger when he offered himself up as compensation. He gave Stan full consent to exactly what he wanted--to take Kyle away- just so he could protect the North Park kid.

Kenny had stayed awake thinking about this late into the night, when a burdensome thought lifted in the back of his mind:   
Kyle really  _ had _ been the bravest out of all of them, even though he was shying and hiding away from Stan this entire week at school. Kenny couldn’t help but worry if that meant Kyle had seen Stan do even worse.

He finished telling the story, but Ike didn’t even blink.

Kenny gaped.

Ike scrutinized him, “What?”

“I don’t know, I thought you’d be more… I don’t know, blown away? At least a little bit concerned?” Kenny stated dubiously, his jaw practically to the floor.

“Forgive me if I’m offending you,” Ike rolled his eyes sarcastically, “Go on. We’re getting somewhere.”

“Damn, and I thought Canadians were supposed to be the kindest angels among men.”

_ “Go on.” _

“Jesus Christ, alright! Stop yelling at me, Mom,” Kenny tried to pick up where he left off, “Okay, where was I? So the guy’s in serious pain. Kyle and I are freaking out at this point--Oh, by the way, I forgot one detail. Kyle tried to pull Stan back at one point, but got kicked in the stomach, so he was in pain, too. Anyway, Kyle tells me to take the guy to the hospital, and he’d take Stan home.”

“And you agreed?”

“No! I hated the idea of them two being alone together!” Kenny cried, “But you have to understand, just the state that Stan was in-... We couldn’t let him be in a room with that kid anymore. His _life_ was legitimately at stake.”

Now Ike finally looked intrigued. He set his pen aside on his notebook and looked up at Kenny with a precise spark of interest in his eyes, “His life?”

Kenny’s breath caught in his throat, “Um, yeah. I found out that tidbit later. At the hospital. He, uh. Geez, this is gonna be weird to say out loud. ‘pparently, his nose was broken and a cheekbone was fractured. I think the docs said something like some of the bone from his cheek fractured through his skull, or something like that. They said one more punch probably could have given ‘im permanent brain damage if not paralyze him or something.”

Ike nodded to himself, lost in contemplation. Completely disregarding Kenny’s presence, Ike scribbled some notes down on his notepad. His movements were composed and sure, but Kenny could tell that he was definitely less calm on the inside.

“What happened next?” Ike asked, not even looking up from his notepad.

“I don’t know,” Kenny confessed, feeling a little guilty, “I went to take the guy to the hospital out the back door, while Kyle and Stan left out the front. That’s the last I saw either of them.”

Ike’s brow furrowed, his obscure dark eyes spiraling in angry thought. He shook his head to himself and put the notebook away, “Well that story was pointless.”

Kenny stalled, “Why was it pointless?”

“I thought details from the party would help produce some theories as to where my brother might have gone,” Ike brooded, “But it didn’t. Just filled me in on what I missed.”

“Still essential info, though,” Kenny pointed out.

“Indeed, but not what I need right now. I just want to find Kyle right now, and worry about Marsh later.”

“You really don’t have any theories?”

“I do have some, but I don’t necessarily have faith in them.”

Kenny groaned, “Really?”

“Well my first two theories are Marsh’s house and Tegridy Farms, but Kyle isn’t stupid enough to go there on his own free will. And even if he were taken against his will, Marsh can’t possibly be stupid enough to host him in locations so obvious,” Ike stated. He paused, then added, “Or would he? I could be giving him too much credit.”

“Well, the man  _ does _ play football. Probably got, like, a hundred brain cells knocked out of his head.”

“That’s not how biology works, but okay. Do you think they could actually be at the house or farmhouse?”

“Actually, yeah. Stan’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. I love him to death, but he ain’t too bright. Not like I have any room to judge, though,” Kenny laughed, “I’m kinda stupid, too.”

“I think you’re intelligent.”

“No way, hold up!” Kenny’s jaw swung open, “You think I’m smart?  _ You,  _ a literal prodigy, think a kid with a D-average in common core classes is smart?”

“The school system is skewed. Not all intelligence derives from a graded scale,” Ike pointed out, “Besides, I said I  _ think _ you are. I predict that you’re intelligent in an area of study outside of academics and that you just don’t give yourself enough personal credit, but as of now it’s just a prediction. I haven’t quite made up my mind about you just yet.”

“Ouch,” Kenny winced, “Way to build up a man's confidence and then squish it like a bug.”

Ike gave a half-smile for compensation, before diving right back into business; “So back to my question. Do you think Marsh would be somewhere as simple as his house?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. But who knows for sure?” Kenny lolled his head to the side in exhaustion, “I don’t know anything anymore and nothing means anything and everything sucks.”

“And I thought you were an optimist,” Ike snorted. He took a tupperware out of his satchel, “Cake?”

Kenny’s jaw dropped, “Um, are you fucking kidding me? Yes, I want cake!”

He opened the plastic container and took out a slightly misshapen slice of cake. He ate it with his bare hands, sitting with his legs crossed on his bed.

“‘m sorta an optimist,” Kenny mumbled with his mouth full, “I jus’ become a nihilist when I feel like it. I don’t really believe in labels.”

“Clearly,” Ike muttered.

“Is it your birthday, my dude? Are you finally moving up in the world?” Kenny asked as he licked icing off his fingers.

“No.”

“Where’d the cake come from, then?”

From where Kenny sat, he could see Ike trying to bite back a smile. He was really doing his best to hide it, but nonetheless Kenny saw it.

“Duuude,” Kenny smiled, “What is it? Cute girl give it to you or something? C’mon, you can tell me!”

Ike cleared his throat and looked the other way, “I won valedictorian.”

Kenny’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Dude.”

“I know…”

“Congratulations!”

Ike stopped for a moment.   
He took a quick breath before pressing, “Why are you congratulating me?”

“Dude, valedictorian is a  _ huge huge huge  _ accomplishment!” Kenny praised, “Why wouldn’t I? And at your age, too, you’re putting Testaburger to shame! Congrats! Really!”

“I thought you’d be upset.”

“Why?” Kenny laughed, “It’s not like I stood a chance!”

“But Kyle used to stand a chance.”

Kenny finally understood; the realization hit him like a truck.   
He winced, “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“Right.”

As Kenny finished the cake, he closed the tupperware and handed it back over to Ike, “So how’d he take the news?”

“I couldn’t tell you for certain,” Ike said, filing the plastic bin in his satchel, “I’m not skilled at reading emotions, I’ll admit that. He told me ‘congratulations,’ of course, and he tried to be supportive. But he didn’t eat any cake. He lied on his floor pretty much the whole night before I last saw him.”

“Poor dude. Seriously. He’s had a shitty past two weeks.”

“Indeed he has,” Ike sighed. He made a move to stand up.

“Wait wait wait! Where’re you going?” Kenny cried, “Leaving so soon?”

“Well I only got a little information here,” Ike said, looking to be a little uncomfortable, “I think I need to interview that Stevens girl or someone else who was at the party to see if I can get any more leads.”

Kenny hopped out of bed and grabbed his parka, “Well, I’ll go with you, then.”

Ike looked him up and down in a way that made Kenny feel like he was being criticized, “No, you won’t.”

“Why not? Are you kidding me? You literally brought me a cake, dude, it’s the least I could do to pay you back!”

Ike slung his satchel over his shoulder and started to put on his shoes, “No really, McCormick. You can stay here. It won’t be worth the trouble.”

“But I’m just as worried about Kyle and Stan as you are!” Kenny was stupefied, “Are you seriously telling me you don’t want me going with you? I’ve been on this case since the start, dude, what the hell! Let’s just go to Stan’s house or Tegridy Farms and see what we can see.”

“No. I don’t want to make any more foolish decisions and have everything end poorly like it did last time,” Ike said, rubbing the fading bruise on his jaw, “We need a structured, sophisticated plan.”

“Exactly why you need a partner, dude,” Kenny said. He paused for a moment before asking, “C’mon, Ike. Let’s just go look for more information together. We’re friends, right?”

Ike actually laughed.

“What?”

“I don’t need friends,” Ike chortled.

“I don’t need friends, they disappoint me,” Kenny smiled.

“...”

“...”

Ike stared, “What was that about?”

“Oh,” Kenny stared too, “I thought you were-... The Vine? I thought you were doing another quote… The little- You know, the- Are you telling me you don’t know the thing ‘I don’t need friends, they disappoint me,’ and then the actress whips around and punches thin air? I swear you were quoting that thing.”

Ike just pursed his lips, looking at Kenny condescendingly.

Kenny fumbled on, “You know… The Vine? ‘Cause you’re into quotes… and stuff?”

“McCormick, no,” Ike had a bemused half-smile playing on his lips, “No. I don’t need this right now. I don’t need friends. I don’t need distractions. What I need is to go to work. I’m going to conduct some more research on the party to see if I can learn anything more about our situation. Afterwards, I’ll-”

_ “-Our _ situation?” Kenny repeated, “Is it even worth calling ‘our?’”

Ike paused for a moment, his dark eyes large with speculation. In one composed movement, he set his satchel aside and sat back down on the chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes foreboding when he asked, “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Well, like…” Kenny was flabbergasted, “I don’t know! It’s just- You’re kinda being a dick, you know? Even though you brought me cake. You’re, like, shutting me out on this, even though we’ve pretty much been working together since the beginning, dude.”

Ike looked at him dubiously, “I work with you when I need you, and I don’t need you right now. It’s as simple as that.”

“Ike, what do you even-...” Kenny took a breath.

He stooped down to the floor to pick up his e-cigarette and fumbled to put it back together. After ensuring that it still worked, Kenny took a smoke and let the perfume ride along his tongue.   
He sat down on the edge of his bed, “Ike, what is your motive in all of this?”

“My motive?” Ike quirked an eyebrow.

“I mean, most of the time, it kinda sorta feels like you don’t really care about people at all,” Kenny explained, “But, like, I feel like you really care about Kyle, which is why you go through all this trouble to help a brother out. But still, the other half of the time, it’s like you’re this  _ void,  _ you know?”

If Ike was affected by Kenny’s words at all, he didn’t express it.

“No, I don’t know,” Ike said impassively.

“I’m serious, Ike!” Kenny leaned forward on the bed, “I want to know why you care so much. I really do.”

When Ike didn’t say anything, Kenny took another hit from his smoker and spoke on:   
“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. Tell you what, Imma tell you why  _ I _ care so much, then you have to tell me why  _ you _ care so much. It’s only fair. Here, lemme go first.”   
Kenny blew smoke out of his nostrils, “I love my dude the Kylie-B. Like, he’s the best. I love him to death. He’s great. Same with Stan. Love the dude to death. They’re both great. But they’ve changed a lot over the years. Subtle changes, changes most people wouldn’t really notice. But I guess just ‘cause we were so close, I started picking up on them. Like how Kyle was spending less time with people, and how Stan got really emotionally attached to him. And I guess I just never really realized that our friendship wasn’t the same until it was too late, you know? I don’t want to say I feel left out, ‘cause that’s not it at all, I guess I just feel…”   
Kenny thought for a moment, “I don’t know, I feel like whatever  _ mental bug _ got hold of their heads and fucked up their brains is taking my friends away from me. And I just want to stop it so I can get them back. … Does that make any sense?”

“Sure,” Ike said, his obscure eyes impossible to read, “It does.”

“Fantastic,” Kenny huffed and put his e-cigarette back in its drawer, “Your turn now.”

“My turn for what?”

“You have to tell me why you care so much.”

Ike looked at him like he was an idiot, “Do I really need a reason, McCormick? He’s the only family I have.”

“Yeah, but-...”

“But what?”

“...I don’t know. I just feel like there’s… something else.”

“Something else?”

“Yeah, like-... I don’t really know. Are you, like, planning for something? Is there some emotional stuff going on on a deeper level? I don’t know. Something like that.”

Ike shrugged innocently. There was no malice in his tone when he said, “I’m always planning for something.”

Kenny was about to take another smoke from his e-cigarette, but stopped himself. He let its metal mouth rest at his lips while he eyed Ike peculiarly, “What’s that mean?”

“I’m always planning. I’m always thinking,” he shrugged again, “That’s just how I work.”

“...”

“...”

“Ike, do you-”

-There was a timid knock at Kenny’s bedroom door, before Butters opened it aside. He tucked his head around the corner, “Uh, hiya fellers.”

“Dude, we’re a little busy right now,” Kenny bit the inside of his cheek to hold himself back from getting frustrated.

“I know, I’m sorry, I just saw that Kyle’s little brother walked in so I-” Butters rubbed his knuckles together, addressing Ike now, “-I was only wonderin’ if you could ask him to bring my coat back? I don’t really own another one.”

Catching Kenny by surprise, Ike was actually really patient with Butters’ timidity. He responded carefully, even making eye contact when he said, “I apologize for that. I would ask him if I could, but I don’t know where my brother is at the moment.”

“He’s not hanging out with Stan?” Butters proposed lightly, “That’s where I’d look.”

Kenny and Ike shared a look, before Ike said, “We don’t want to venture into that territory right now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just saying, if he’s hangin’ out with Stan, you might not see him for a few days.”

Kenny’s stomach flipped over, “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Butters started, twiddling his hands together nervously, “When I was cleaning the kitchen last night, y’know, just doin’ my chores, I accidentally overheard a phone conversation between my mom and Mrs. Marsh. She said the Marshes were goin’ out of town for a week ‘cause Stan’s sister’s sick.”

Kenny and Ike shared another look, this time it was one of immediacy.

“He wouldn’t-” Kenny swallowed, “Stan wouldn’t’ve taken Kyle out of the state with him, right? That’s- That’s too far. He wouldn’t do that, right?”

“He would,” Ike said somberly, “He’s done it before.”

“Wait. Hold on. I thought that was just a threat. Did they  _ actually _ go out of state last week?”

Ike threw Butters a look over his shoulder and said, “Thank you, Scotch. You can leave now.”

“B-But my coat-”

“-I’ll find a way to get it back to you, alright? Leave us for now, thank you.”

Kenny watched Butters flinch at Ike’s sudden directness. He rubbed his knuckles together for a moment longer, biting his lip in that anxious way he does, before he finally left Kenny’s room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as Butters was gone, Kenny leaned forward on the bed eagerly, “Did they  _ actually _ go out of state after Stan took him out of Tegridy Farms?”

“I have to assume so,” Ike was flipping through the pages of his notebook, “On Sunday, some police officers found Gerald’s car in Laramie, so evidently they found Marsh and my brother there as well.”

“What’s Laramie?”

“Laramie, Wyoming.”

“People actually live in Wyoming?”

“Very few, but yes.”

“Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me right now? I thought Wyoming was just this giant field out in the middle of nowhere! People live there?!”

“It  _ is _ a giant field out in the middle of nowhere, but it’s the forty-fourth state of the United States. People live there.”

“Jesus! This is crazy.”

“That people just happen to live in a rural environment?” Ike asked curtly.

“No, that Stan took him out of the state!” Kenny exclaimed, pulling at his hair.

Dating way back to their childhood, Kenny remembered it being evident that Stan never really wanted to leave town. There were a few school trips and some football games that ended up taking Stan out of the state for short periods of time, but he was always anxious for them to be over. Kenny thought it was endearing, really, that Stan had the whole “small-town celebrity” vibe going for him. Despite the fact that they lived in a rather chaotic, destructive, isolated little town, Stan seemed to really enjoy it, and that was integral to his character.

Now that Kenny thought about it, he didn’t know if Kyle felt the same way. He knew that all the colleges and universities he applied to were big-name and far away, but that didn’t automatically go to say that Kyle didn’t want to return home after he graduated. Kenny wasn’t like Stan in the way that he knew absolutely everything about Kyle, and so it was difficult to say if he actually liked it here at all.

But even if both Stan and Kyle hated living here, that did not excuse running off to Wyoming in a stolen car. That was a concept so astronomically out of character for both of them, just the thought of it made butterflies flap around inside Kenny’s stomach.

“That’s-...” Kenny started, though he was barely aware of the words leaving his mouth, “That’s weird...”

“Yes,” Ike muttered, reading over his notes, “Randy and Sheila had to pick them up at a police station. The report said they were found in a shady hotel on the outskirts of town when the car was reported.”

“I do remember Stan saying something about a police station,” Kenny remembered, “But I just didn’t ask about it. They both seemed stressed, so I didn’t bring it up. Doya think that was a bad call on my part?”

“No. Even if you did ask, I highly doubt either of them would have told you anything,” Ike pointed out.

“Yeah,” Kenny grumbled, “Yeah, you’re right. Dang it… So does this mean Stan took Kyle and left the state again?”

Ike set his notebook aside, “In all honesty, I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem natural that he would do something like that when he’s with his parents. They must still be somewhere in town.”

“Well, that’s good,” Kenny stood up and grabbed his parka again, “Let’s go look for them.”

“You have the memory of a goldfish, McCormick,” Ike muttered, “I already said that I don’t want to search for them until we have a plan.”

“Plan,  _ shman. _ Let’s go right now, come on.”

“Absolutely not. Not until we have a structured, sophisticated plan of action.”

“Whaddya waiting for? A search warrant? A gold medal? What do you want?” Kenny accidentally laughed.

Ike’s lips drew to a thin line, “What I want is to not look like an absolute idiot by running in without a plan again. I know you’re aware of everything that happened last time. You can’t tell me that you’d like history to repeat itself.”

Kenny eyed the bruise on Ike’s jaw, “Just wear a helmet and you’ll be good to go.”

“I’m serious.”

“And you think I’m not?” Kenny zipped up his parka, “C’mon, we’ve got to get a move on. Wear a protective helmet if you want, I don’t care, but we really should go to Stan’s house soon. The sooner we separate them, the better.”

“I completely disagree,” Ike crossed his arms over his chest, “If we blindly barge on in, we put both ourselves and Kyle at risk. The exact same thing that happened at Tegridy Farms will undeniably happen again. Marsh will come out on top, he’ll probably run away with Kyle, and we’ll be at square one. We can’t go now, we need to wait until we have a legitimate plan.”

“But if we wait to come up with something, we’re just wasting time!”

“And? It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”

Kenny felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, “Are you telling me that you’d be fine just having Kyle wait on being rescued? After everything that’s happened, you think it’s a good idea to just let them be alone together?”

“I never said it was a good idea, but I am fine with it, yes. It’s for the greater good of himself.”

Kenny bristled, “But you’ve seen the bruises on his neck and face! And after the shitshow at Bebe’s party, who  _ knows _ what Stan’s preparing to do?!”

“I’ll have you know that Kyle is a lot stronger than what you give him credit for,” Ike stood up from the chair now.

“He  _ used  _ to be!” Kenny cried, “Then he got injured and sick, and he keeps getting worse! And with Stan starting to go a little crazy, both of them are just gonna get worse, and worse, and worse, and worse until it’s too late!”

“It won’t be too late!” Ike bit back now, his black-hole eyes ablaze, “The only thing that’s needed is a structured system of action, and it will be implemented when the time is right! I refuse to let the unknown play a factor here, we will come in prepared so as to protect all of us!”

“No, Ike!” Kenny shrieked, “I can’t just sit back and wait knowing that they’re alone together! It’ll drive me insane, thinking about all the horrible things that could happen! I could- I would-... I-I can’t just  _ do _ that, Ike…”

“No one ever said we had to be a team.”

Something ate away at Kenny’s heart, “What…?”

Ike was completely composed, as if he hadn’t riled himself up at all. He straightened the cuffs of his sleeved shirt as he explained, “I’m not going to hold you back. I won’t stop you from making your own decisions. I only choose to do what I think is best, and what I think is best is having a plan. But my belief does not impede on yours, McCormick. If you want to make that decision, that’s fine. It’s just far too risky for my tastes.”

“What do you mean?” for some reason, Kenny’s heart was beating much too fast.

“I mean exactly as I’m saying. I don’t need to spell it out,” Ike slung his satchel over his shoulder, “If you want to look for Marsh and my brother before I develop a plan, you most certainly can. Just know that I won’t be going with you.”

“But I thought we were buddy cops...”

“You made that title, not me,” Ike smirked, “But in all sincerity, if you want to go, go. I don’t care. I won’t, but you can.”

Without another word, Ike turned toward the door. He made a move to leave, but Kenny stopped him.

“Dude!” Kenny urged, “Okay, I’ll admit I don’t know as much as you, but I do know that no one can go in all alone! I mean, just one person? Against Stan? While Kyle might need help walkin’ or whatever, it’s literally impossible for just one dude to take Stan down, we all know what he’s capable of. It’s fucking stupid for somebody to go in by themselves!”

“Especially without a plan,” Ike pointed.

Kenny felt something sink in his chest, “C’mon, man, seriously? ...I… I really don’t want to wait.”

“Well I don’t want to risk anything. Do you have my phone number?”

“Um. Yeah. Pretty sure. Why?”

“Well I’m not going to take any chances, but if you decide to venture out in the world, let me know about your results,” Ike stated flatly. If he pitied Kenny in the slightest degree, he didn’t show a fraction of it, “You may do whatever you will with them, just do me a favor and don’t chase them out of town. That’ll mess up any preparations I’ve already made.”

Kenny wrapped his arms around himself, all of a sudden feeling really small in his own bedroom, “You make everything sound like this big, elaborate thing, don’t you?”

“I only want to play it safe,” Ike explained, a strange sort of soothing quality ebbing into his tone, “With Kyle’s lack of wellness and Marsh’s instability, the worst thing we could do is come in unprepared. We risk everything, we risk ourselves and them.”

“Nah, man, the worst thing we could do is leave them alone together for too long.”

“We’ll agree to disagree,” Ike said, giving a nod.

He looked Kenny up and down again, but this time it didn’t make him feel like he was being ridiculed. He more so felt as though Ike was searching for something in him, something intransigent. He gave another nod, and then promptly left, leaving Kenny standing upright, all alone in the confines of his bedroom.

“Well,” he announced to nobody, his fists in the pockets of his parka, “Shitfuck.”


	26. Chapter 26

Just like how Stan was there when he fell asleep, Stan was there when Kyle woke up.

Kyle slept through the rest of the morning, which gave Stan plenty of time to attend to things around the house as he slept. Stan called his mom and assured her that everything was okay, just like she wanted. He then busied himself cleaning until the house was shipshape. He knew Kyle valued cleanliness, and at the time, the Marsh household was a far,  _ far  _ cry from that. So he figured it would make for a friendly gesture to have the house clean and ready by the time his friend woke up.

And in an effort to make everything feel a little more okay, Stan cooked him breakfast. Using a recipe he found in one of the diabetic pamphlets, he made an array of pancakes and fruit that he would serve him in bed. Stan wasn’t much of a cook, but he had to admit that the pancakes turned out looking pretty good. It was a  _ banally _ annoying cliché, but it was true that Stan made them with love, so they turned out alright in the end.

The walls and flooring were thin in his house, so from where he was downstairs, he could distinctly hear Kyle starting to stir sometime before noon. In turn, Stan gathered the breakfast tray and carried it up to his bedroom.

When he walked in, Kyle was just barely waking up. He was sitting up with his legs over the side of Stan’s mattress, his broken ankle grounded to the floor. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, but went stiff in his spine at Stan’s approach.

Stan noticed, and stopped in his tracks, “Hey, you okay?”

Kyle was still impossibly rigid in his body when he answered meekly, “I don’t know…”

Something about that line made Stan bite his lips.

“Listen,” Kyle propped a hand up against his forehead, “About this morning, I’m sorry I just showed up out of nowhere, and I was probably rambling a lot, and throwing a lot of information at you, and I’m just- I’m sorry about-”

“-Oh, Kyle,” Stan set the breakfast tray down on the ground and moved to sit down next to him on the bed. He was about to wrap his arms around him in a sign of comfort, but remembered his sensitivities, and thought better of it. Instead, Stan just folded his hands in his lap and said, “You’ve really got to stop apologizing so much, Kyle. It’s not like you, but you’ve been doing it all the time, especially for no reason.”

“I know, I just-” Kyle squeezed his forehead, “-I don’t know…”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Stan said softly.   
It was honestly a little heartbreaking that he had to take the time to explain this to him. Kyle never used to act like this. Stan felt like he was parenting a small child when he cautiously explained, “Don’t apologize for opening up to me this morning. That was a good thing, Kyle. That was a  _ great _ thing. I’m going to be able to take better care of you now, you realize that, don’t you? You helped me. So now I’m helping you, okay?”

“Okay,” Kyle said, but the tone of his voice made it sound like he didn’t really believe it.

A gentle silence floated into the room. Stan let it remain for a little while, before he did his best to restart conversation on a higher note.

“I’m glad that you slept for a few hours,” he smiled.

“Me too,” Kyle answered automatically, his attention elsewhere.

“How do you feel?”

“A bit better.”

“I’m glad. I feel better, too.”

Kyle’s attention sprung back into focus on those words, “You do?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? You really do?”

“Yes?” Stan was admittedly a little confused by his reaction.

Kyle drew in his knees on the bed and leaned in close, “Stan, tell me the truth, not just what you want me to hear. Do you actually feel better? Believe me, I want you to, more than anything, dude. But I just- I don’t-... It’s hard to believe what you tell me sometimes, you know? I- I mean, after  _ everything…” _ _   
_ Kyle trailed off. He looked up at Stan with his wide green eyes, “I’m sure I’m not making sense, but-... Do you know what I mean, dude?”

Stan tilted his head to the side.

“You know,  _ mentally,”  _ Kyle scrambled for the right words. He gesticulated with his hands, pointing to his head, “Up here? Do you- Like, are you thinking properly again? Are you feeling better mentally?”

“Yeah,” Stan smiled, his heart truly warmed by Kyle’s efforts, “I do. I got my priorities in order.”

Kyle smiled back, his teeth pearly and white. His lively green eyes were even watering when he delightedly whimpered, “Stan, I-... I’m so glad to hear that. Really, I am! That’s- That’s great!”

“Kyle, you’re so happy!” Stan laughed, “I love it! Never stop being happy, okay? Don’t go pouty on me ever again. No more bad stuff between us.”

“No more,” Kyle giggled.

“I mean that, too,” Stan leaned forward on the bed, “No more bad stuff. Today is all about you. You’re safe now, and I’m gonna make sure of that. You’ve had a really tough past two weeks. So today, you’re gonna get spoiled, okay?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it! Pretend today is your birthday or something! I’m gonna take care of you today, I swear.”

Kyle just chortled again. He bent over the side of the bed and fiddled with the straps on his boot, addressing Stan over his shoulder as he did, “So, like, are your folks going to be mad at me? After showing up out of nowhere, and taking up space, and-”

“-They’re out of town for the week, it’s fine,” Stan shrugged.

“You should at least call them.”

“I called my mom while you were sleeping.”

“And you told her I was here?”

“Well, no.”

Kyle pulled up from his broken ankle, “Why not? I don’t want to stay if I’m gonna, like, be a problem or anything.”

“No, you’re never a problem,” Stan assured, “She just doesn’t need to worry right now, she’s got a lot on her plate. Apparently Shelley’s sick.”

“Shelley? Is she okay? She doesn’t have COVID, does she?”

“No, just the flu.”

“Still. That’s pretty bad.”

“Especially for a college student.”

“No kidding. They don’t have insurance, they can’t go see a doctor.”

“Yeah, that’s the American government for you. Killing off the future generation of leaders. Her entire dorm was evicted.”

“Dude, that’s awful.”

“Yeah. Luckily, Mom and Dad are taking care of it.”

“Poor Shelley.”

“I’d agree with you, but she’d sucker punch me if I give her sympathy,” Stan sighed. Then he remembered something in the back of his mind, “Hey, that reminds me. When she comes home, Kyle, we’re going to need to separate the two of you. No being in the same room, no touching the same materials, none of that. You’d probably get the flu, considering your immune system right now.”

“But it’s not like I’m staying for long,” Kyle pointed out, “I’m sure I’ll be out of here by the time she comes home.”

“Um. No. No, you’re not leaving.”

Kyle went still.

He wasn’t afraid, not really. Stan would know, because he had seen Kyle petrified in fear so many times within the last few days that it was burned into his memory. Right now, Kyle seemed to only be stalling, pausing, as if in anticipation for something.

“Stan, you’re not gonna-...” he dropped off, looking down at his marred wrists.

“Oh God no,” Stan shook his head, “No, no. Kyle, I just-... After you opened up to me, and you said all that stuff about home, you know, I can’t just let you go back there.”

At his words, Kyle softened a little. He looked at Stan eagerly, his eyes begging him to go on.

Stan forced himself to be as alleviating as physically possible when he said, “Now that I know for certain what’s happening to you, it just- It makes it worse. I really can’t let you get hurt again, Kyle. Not if I can prevent it… You-... You deserve better than that.”

Kyle looked away now, pretending to be interested in the boot on his broken ankle, “I’m sorry I never told you sooner.”

“Don’t be. At least you told me, right?”

“The only reason I never told you before was ‘cause I thought you would take it badly… I thought you would try to hurt yourself.”

“Oh,” Stan’s heart swelled, “That’s, um, that’s sad… That’s not true, though.”

“I know it’s not, because you didn’t,” Kyle breathed, “That’s why I believe you when you say you’re really feeling better.”

“Oh,” was all that Stan could say, smiling again.

“I’m really proud of you, dude,” Kyle’s eyes were twinkling again.   
Then he took a shuddering breath and turned away, wiping at his face with his hands, “Crap-balls… that was getting too wishy-washy for me.”

Stan laughed, “It’s okay! I liked it.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t. God, I’m a mess,” Kyle finished wiping his face, “Okay, so what now?”

“Breakfast?” Stan proposed. He lifted the tray from the ground, displaying the array of pancakes and plated fruit like it was a box of jewels, “I made them myself! I know you like waffles more than you do pancakes, but I couldn’t find a waffle recipe in the diabetic pamphlet. Sorry, you’ll have to make do.”

Guilt flashed in Kyle’s eyes, and Stan could see it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, resting the tray on his lap.

Kyle eyed the tray peculiarly, “I don’t- I mean, thank you for your efforts. Really, thanks, but- I don’t think- Well, my stomach…”

“Oh,” Stan said knowingly. He set the tray aside, “Don’t want any heavy food?”

“I just don’t want to puke…”

“Wanna head down to the kitchen and see if we can get you something lighter?”

“I’m not hungry,” Kyle looked to the left.

Something stirred in Stan’s gut, “Yes, you are.”

“...Yes, I am.”

“Okay,” Stan said, doing his best to stop his overwhelming concern from leaking into his tone. He stood up from his bed, “Do you need help getting downstairs?”

“I think I’ve got it,” Kyle said, standing shakily.

And he did, mostly. Every little movement seemed to strain him, but Kyle pushed on all the way to the kitchen, Stan keeping a close eye on him from behind. When they made it to the kitchen, Kyle immediately sat down in a chair to rest his ankle, while Stan moved on to the pantry.

“Can I get you ice for your foot or something?” Stan offered.

“No, it’s okay,” Kyle said, propping it up on another chair, “It only hurts when I put pressure on it, so, like, it’s fine, I guess.”

“So what do you want to eat?” Stan asked, opening the pantry, “We have a lot of food. I had, like, two or three sandwiches while you were still sleeping.”

“Just soup,” Kyle muttered, resting his face on his hand.

“No crackers or anything?”

“No.”

Stan winced as he looked through the contents of the pantry, “All we have is broth.”

“That’ll do.”

“You need something more nutritious than just broth, Kyle,” Stan said, hoping he wasn’t coming across as too commanding, “How about toast and applesauce? That’s what I always have when my stomach’s upset.”

Kyle just shook his head.

Stan bit the inside of his cheek, “Kyle, I know you don’t want to throw up, but you just had DKA and you haven’t been eating. We have to get some nutrients in you.”

When Kyle didn’t respond, Stan went to open the fridge, “How about I make you a protein shake? It’ll be completely liquid. Would you be okay with that?”

Kyle gave a tentative nod.

“Great,” Stan forced himself to smile, “I make really good ones. My football teammates have me make them by the gallon and bring ‘em in to practice.”

Kyle gave a half-smile in response.

Stan started taking ingredients out of the fridge and laying them on the counter, “Do you know what flavor you want? I can make just about anything.”

Kyle just shrugged.

It was becoming a chore to keep his worry buried at this point. But Stan wouldn’t break. He was going to take better care of Kyle, and that meant he wouldn’t nitpick over every little thing that worried him, because he knew that it bothered Kyle. He had to make him feel comfortable, despite the many valid reasons he had to blow his concern out of proportion.

Even as Stan moved on to assembling the shake, Kyle was essentially despondent. He just sat in the chair wordlessly, uneasiness written everywhere in his body language.

Stan stopped working and took a moment to look at his friend, frowning. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Kyle was supposed to be happy now. Things were going to get better. Stan made a vow, and Kyle actually believed in him. But right now, it didn’t feel like that was the case.

An inkling of an idea sprang in the back of Stan’s mind.

He took out his phone and connected it to the kitchen Bluetooth speaker. When it was connected, he went on Spotify and shuffled a Gorillaz playlist.

Only two seconds into the first song, Kyle erupted into laughter, which in turn, immediately brought a genuine smile on Stan’s face.

Personally, he hated this kind of music. Anything without an electric guitar turned him off enough as is, but alternative songs with techno noises and cacophonous bases repulsed him to the core. But he knew that Kyle, being the techy he is, was always drawn to this kind of music, and so he picked up an interest in Gorillaz over time. They were just about the only band Kyle loved that Stan could take (if they were even worth calling a “band”). Additionally, Stan just happened to know that they were Kyle’s favorite.

“What?” Stan smiled at Kyle’s reaction, “Don’t like this song?”

“Dude, I  _ love _ this song!” Kyle laughed, “You hate it, though!”

“I mean, I think it’s okay,” Stan shrugged, slicing a banana over the blender.

“No, dude,” Kyle grinned from ear to ear, “You  _ hate _ this song!”

“Eh, it’s got a good beat for making shakes,” Stan said, proving his point by slicing in rhythm, shaking his hips a little to make Kyle laugh even more.

When all of his ingredients were ready, Stan let them sit together in the blender. He moved around the counter to approach Kyle, who at this point, was laughing so much that he was red in the face. On the verge of laughing himself, Stan motioned for Kyle to start dancing with him.

Being the stubborn mule that he was, it took a lot of convincing. But as soon as “Feel Good Inc.” came on, Kyle finally gave in and joined in.

To say that they were dancing would be an overstatement. It was more like careless frolicking around the kitchen, the two of them stupidly throwing around their bodies and hoping it was at least to the beat of the music. Of course, the entire time they were laughing like numbskulls.

Honestly, it was exhilarating, and Stan loved it. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Kyle had a moment like this, a moment of pure ecstasy together as super best friends. The dancing gave him the same physical pleasure as working out, the music gave him laughter, but most importantly, the fact that he was just allowing himself to let go--and the fact that Kyle was doing it with him- made the dance outstanding. They were drunk with happiness, intoxicated by the sheer rush of joy.

It was cathartic, really.

That was until Kyle stopped.

Stan was still laughing and bucking his hips around, so he didn’t notice it at first. He didn’t stop until Kyle swayed forward and grabbed onto his shirt.

“Woah woah woah,” Stan said breathily, his breathing rugged from the dancing. He put his hands on Kyle’s shoulders to steady him, “Kyle, you okay?”

His eyes half-lidded, Kyle leaned in forward against Stan’s chest and mumbled incoherently. His hands were still balling tufts of Stan’s shirt, like his grasp was the only thing keeping him upright and conscious.

It was only then that Stan noticed how pale Kyle was.

“Oh, Kyle,” Stan whispered gently, “Did you overexert yourself? I’m so sorry, I should have thought before I had you dance, I’m so sorry.”

It was hard to tell if Kyle registered anything he was saying. So Stan stuck two fingers in front of his face, “Hey, can you see alright? How many fingers?”

Kyle made an effort to respond, but his speech was so slurred and there was so much strain in his expression that Stan couldn’t understand him in the slightest.

His entire body fuming with worry, Stan moved Kyle back to the chair to sit him down. He fetched him a glass of water and told him to drink it. He watched Kyle sip it tenuously, and felt something stir in his gut, “See, Kyle, this is why you need to eat better.”

Kyle flinched.

“I’m not scolding you,” Stan assured, bending down to be at his level, “You just- Your body, it needs fuel. Especially after DKA. If you keep up your eating habits, you’re just going to get sick again, maybe sick- _ er.” _

Stan’s insides were boiling with anxiety by now. He swore he felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead just at the  _ thought _ of lethal health scares arising yet again. It was especially frightening that he was having to think of this now; now, when they were supposed to be safe and happy.

“I’m not gonna let that happen, okay?” Stan said, his stomach fluttering, “I said I was gonna take better care of you, and I am. We’ll start with breakfast.”

Stan ended up making it a mocha flavored protein shake. He didn’t like coffee and he wasn’t fond of caffeine in general. But he knew that Kyle really liked it, and he thought that the familiar flavor would serve as compensation for their rough start to breakfast.

And to make everything a little easier, Stan moved Kyle to the living room and put on the TV as he served him his shake.

“Do I need my pricks?” Kyle weakly asked as Stan set him up on the couch.

“No,” Stan strained to remain calm and collected, “I checked the sugar content and did the math and everything. You should be okay.”

“But… eventually.”

“What’s that? I’m having a hard time understanding you.”

“‘m gonna need my pricks eventually…”

Stan stalled, “...I know.”

Kyle looked at him expectantly.

Stan took a deep breath. He started to arrange and rearrange the couch pillows all around Kyle, “But not right now. You don’t need them right now, so we’re okay. I’ll deal with that later. For now, let’s just try to have a good day, okay? I said I was going to spoil you, and I mean it.”

“Stan,” Kyle sighed, a strange tone in his voice that Stan couldn’t dissect.

“I mean it. You deserve a good day,” Stan said earnestly. He finished propping up the pillows and then he turned to the TV. He put “Terrence and Phillip” on the screen, knowing it was also a favorite of Kyle’s. Then he flopped himself down beside him, throwing an arm around the back of the couch as he lied back and looked at the screen.

“Let’s just relax together, like old times. Wouldn’t that be great?” Stan asked with levity.

Kyle wrapped his hands around the base of his cup, “It would be.”

“Why don’t you sound excited?”

“I don’t know. A lot has changed, I guess.”

“Well, yeah. But that doesn’t mean we can’t relax together. You said it yourself, we’re still super best friends,” Stan shot him a look from across the couch, “What about our lil’ dance party back in the kitchen? You can’t tell me you weren’t having fun. That was fun.”

A smirk played on Kyle’s lips, “That  _ was _ fun.”

“There’s that smile I’ve missed,” Stan grinned, “See? Everything’s gonna be fine. Let’s just kick back and watch our show.”

“Yeah,” Kyle leaned back against the couch cushions, “This episode’s a classic.”

“Is it?”

“One of my favorites, yeah.”

“Cool,” Stan said, leaning back onto the sofa.

They spent the next few hours just like this, staring up at the screen and sharing laughs and side commentaries. Stan had his attention divided evenly between “Terrence and Phillip” and Kyle, who didn’t seem to notice his overbearing stares. Kyle just watched the television, taking a small sip from the protein shake every now and again.

Much to Stan’s satisfaction, he noticed how Kyle relaxed over time. They both did. There even came a point a few hours later where he and Stan were both sprawled out over the sofa, ranting about the acting, arguing about different characters, and laughing at every little thing, even things that weren’t funny. It was heartwarming, actually, how just a few hours spent together managed to bring them back to a time when everything was alright.

Kyle finished his protein shake with no complaint, and was looking a lot better as time went on. The few hours of sleep he accomplished made him look more awake than he had in days. He was cognizant and vibrant, and it warmed Stan’s soul. But most importantly, Kyle wasn’t shying away anymore. He wasn’t hiding, he wasn’t afraid, he was completely open with Stan, and that’s just how it should be.

Kyle was happy, just like Stan wanted.

This was the happy, carefree safe-zone that Stan had hoped for; this was the “right thing” he told his mom he would bring to life. This was it. He had done it.

And as he looked over to his super best friend on the couch beside him, he watched the way Kyle snorted at a dumb joke on the TV, and the way his green eyes came to life, Stan could only wish that this “right thing” could last forever.

* * *

Sometime late into the evening, Kyle wanted to go clean himself up.

Stan discouraged a shower, thinking that standing up for too long might overexert him again, so Kyle settled for a bath instead. Stan said he would let Kyle take as long as he needed, and he wouldn’t barge in just to check on him like he did last time. But he did make Kyle promise to call him perchance he needed anything; that was the agreement they made.

So while Kyle bathed in the upstairs bathroom, Stan was working out downstairs. He hadn’t had an official workout in days now, so it felt great to get back into the rhythm of his hardcore self-care routines.

He had been laboring at a punching bag for at least half an hour before he heard the doorbell ring.

Before he could answer the door, Stan had to take a breather. Not only was he sweating profusely and breathing like a maniac, but he was emotionally unprepared to see anyone today. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. His family wasn’t supposed to be home for a week and he didn’t have regular company.

Having someone stop by was like an invasion to the private sanctuary he built for himself and Kyle. Whoever it was, the visitor had better be gone quickly. Stan wanted to maintain the sanctuary for as long as possible; the sooner he could get rid of the person at the door, the better.

Slapping a sweat towel over his shoulders, Stan opened the front door.

He took a step back in surprise, “Oh. Hi, Kenny.”

Kenny McCormick seemed to be just as unsettled as Stan was, if not even more uneasy. His bright blue eyes were wide, and he seemed to be nervous just by standing there at the front door. His hands were fidgeting around a small black bag, one that was eerily familiar to Stan, though he couldn’t quite put a finger on why he remembered it so.

Without even giving Stan a chance to say anything, Kenny raised his arms in the air and said, “Please don’t hit me.”

Stan tilted his head to the side. His breathing was still coarse and uneven, so much so that he couldn’t form words. So he just gave Kenny a pointed look.

The fact that Stan was drenched in sweat and that his biceps were prominently bulging seemed to offput Kenny even more. He looked like he wanted to run away but something was grounding him in place.

“I, uh,” Kenny fidgeted with the bag in his hands more, “So, uh, Ike was just at my house a few hours ago. He said Kyle was gone this morning, and I got to thinking, you know. I thought he’d be here if you were here, and you’re here, so…”

He looked at Stan expectantly. Stan wiped his face with the towel, struggling to speak coherently, “Yeah? And?”

“Well, is he here?”

“Ike?”

“No, Kyle. Is Kyle here?”

“Yeah.”

At just the one word, Stan watched Kenny’s anxiety melt away. Watching his reaction was like watching water pour over sugar, everything just dissolving sweetly.   
Kenny let out an immediate breath, his hold on the black bag loosening. He pulled back the hood of his parka, a sense of confidence starting to emit off of him. He was smiling, but not because he was happy. To Stan, it looked like Kenny was smiling because he was onto something.

“Fan-flipping-tastic,” Kenny exclaimed, “‘cause I was not ready to work with the police on a missing persons report again. Those guys are awful.”

“But Kyle’s not missing,” Stan said pointedly, “He’s here.”

“I know, that’s awesome,” Kenny looked behind Stan and over his shoulders, “Can I see him?”

“No.”

“Stan-”

-In case Kenny was getting any ideas, Stan used his arm to block the whole doorway.

“No,” he said with a little more emphasis to his tone.

The last time he and Kenny talked, they ended with a few bones to pick still between them. The last time they spoke one-on-one was back in Bebe’s parking lot, and even then, they were aloof and dissonant. And that was after Kenny went a full week avoiding him and trying to distance him from Kyle, all the while acting unreasonably defensive.

That’s why right here, right now, it was difficult to tell if Kenny came as a friend or as a foe. Even from the beginning, he was never on anyone’s side. At first he acted like he was on Stan’s side, but then out of nowhere he jumped to Ike’s, and now he seemed to be on his own.

So it was no wonder that Stan felt exceedingly uncomfortable with his random presence at the front door and his sudden demands to see Kyle.

“What’s that?” Stan asked, a trail of sweat dripping down his back as he eyed at the black bag in Kenny’s hands.

At his question, Kenny hid the bag behind his back, “None of your business. Where’s Kyle?”

“He’s-” Stan had to stop to take a sharp inhale; he still hadn’t caught his breath, “-He’s here. Now, what’s in the bag?”

“It’s none of your beeswax. If he’s here, why can’t I see him?”

“He’s in the bath. What’s in the bag?”

“Nunya  _ beeswax,” _ Kenny pressed aggressively now. He kept peeking over Stan’s shoulders, “Is he actually? I mean, I don’t really know if I can take your word for it, dude. Can I see him, please?”

“He’s in the bath, no,” Stan was getting defensive. He used both of his arms to block the doorway, “Why’re you acting like this, Ken? I thought we left off on pretty neutral terms at the party. You said you were going to stop avoiding me, I thought that meant you would stop acting weird around me.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You’re  _ so _ acting weird.”

“Bruh, you’ve  _ seen me _ at my weirdest,” Kenny shot, “You know very well that shit can get weird with me.”

“Uh huh,” Stan accidentally smiled at a random memory, “Can you tell me what’s in the bag?”

At seeing Stan smile, Kenny softened a bit. He went less offensive when he explained, “It’s, uh, it’s his needles bag. I thought he would need it, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Stan’s breath hitched, “Yeah. How’d you- uh, how’d you get it?”

“I stopped by Ike’s house and asked if I could drop it off to you guys. He said it was a smart idea,” Kenny smirked, “And you know if _he_ says something’s smart, it’s _smart._ He told me to give it to you guys if only I could manage to not screw things up, or whatever. Anyway, can I come in? To give it to him?”

“No.”

“But doesn’t he need it?”

“No. I mean-” Stan rubbed the sweat towel over the back of his neck and hair as he struggled to speak coherently, “Sort of. He didn’t need it earlier. I mean, I did all the math with his glucose and stuff. I made sure he was okay to eat, and he was. I just- I mean, he’ll need it later, yeah. He will. So can I just take that bag off your hands, Kenny?”

Kenny hid the bag behind his back childishly, “No thanks.”

“Ken, for the love of God,” Stan mumbled, rolling his head back on his shoulders, “You’re a lot of work, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what everybody keeps telling me,” he forced a sigh.   
Kenny took a pause, then moved to hold the bag in front of him as if it were a business briefcase. He splayed his fingers atop its surface in a showy manner before saying, “Okay, tell you what, Stan. You like making deals, right? I mean, you’re shitty at following them--like really, you should get help about that. I think that stems from gambling problems or something. Hey, didn’t your grandpa have money problems? You know, that might explain a few things about you-”   
-Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sorry, I’m rambling. Back to what I was saying, I know you’re not good at doing deals, but I know you like them, and at this point I feel like that’s the only way I can get through to you. So I’ll tell you what-”   
-Kenny pulled out the faux TV announcer impression now, “For just the small price of letting me see my favorite Kylie-B, you will earn this awesome, genuine, one-of-a-kind black diabetic care package!”

Stan was not impressed.

Kenny forced a showy smile.

Stan was slightly amused. He accidentally smiled, “Kenny, do you really have to-”

“-It has a  _ zipper, _ c’mon. This is a total win-win,” Kenny’s false smile dissolved away, the cheerfulness in his eyes abating. He lowered the bag to his side, sighing honestly as he said, “Look, Stan, playfulness aside, I really want to see him. I think it’s kinda sad I have to ask you permission. Like, that’s not right. But here I am, doing it anyway, like the idiot I am. Can I please see him?”

“Why do you want to see him so badly?” Stan crossed his arms over his chest, but not in an aggressive way.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him since Bebe’s party.”

“You haven’t seen  _ me _ since Bebe’s party, either.”

“Whoops, you got me,” Kenny blew air out of his lips, “Nah, but seriously man, I care about you. I do. I’ve said it like a billion times by now, but right now my number one on my priorities list is Kyle. You get that, right?”

Stan did get it. More than Kenny even knew. He said nearly the same thing just earlier this morning. He told Kyle he got his priorities in order, and he did.

Stan was touched by his words, but he didn’t want to let Kenny see, so he rubbed the sweat towel over his face, and then proceeded to scrub his hair without shame.

“Dude,” Kenny laughed, a tendered quality to his spirit, “You reek. What’ve you been up to?”

“Punching things.”

Kenny went silent without delay.

Visibly terror-stricken, he tried to bustle through the doorway, but with Stan’s body serving as an impenetrable barrier, he had no chance of getting through. So instead, Kenny just reached over Stan’s shoulder and shouted into the house.

_ “Kyle?”  _ he cried, “Kyle, are you okay? Where are you? I can get you out of here, let’s go! Are you okay?!”

“Kenny, what are you  _ doing?” _ Stan exclaimed, holding him back with every muscle in his body.

“I  _ knew _ you were gonna be violent with him, I just knew it!” Kenny shrieked, before calling over his shoulders again, “Kyle?! Can you hear me?!”

There was a loud  _ bang _ upstairs, followed by a few pitter-patter noises, before the bathroom door swung open and Kyle stormed out. He was dressed in his old clothes, his skin and hair still wet from the bath water. He scrambled to get down the stairs in his boot, annoyance written everywhere all over his face.

“Stan, I thought you said you’d let me bathe in peace. Why do you all of a sudden-” he stopped short when he realized who was at the door, “-Kenny?”

Just like before, all of Kenny’s anxiety dissolved off of him like water over sugar.

“Kylie-B!” he exclaimed softly, “I missed you. You okay?”

Stan could see that Kyle was endeared by Kenny’s reaction, but he was also notably confused. He looked in between Kenny and Stan for some sort of explanation, “Everything okay? What’s going on?”

Kenny stepped in, “Stan, can I please talk with the Kylie-B?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” Stan said meekly. For some reason, having Kyle’s presence in the room made him weaker. It was as though he couldn’t demonstrate his brutality now that Kyle was watching. He found himself stammering as he went on, “I- Yeah, I mean, only if Kyle wants to.”

“I do,” Kyle said, smiling, his hair still dripping down his back. He turned to Stan, “Can you let him in, Stan?”

“Actually-” Kenny cut in now, “I wanted to talk with you alone, if that’s okay.”

Kyle and Stan shared a look.

“Can he, Stan?”

“Can he what?”

Kyle bit his lower lip, “Is it okay if he talks to me alone?”

“Um. Well, I, uh…”

Kenny pursed his lips, “Kyle, don’t bother asking him. You know he’s gonna say no.”

“I- um,” Stan cleared his throat, “If- If that’s what you want, Kyle, I guess. Sure.”

Kyle’s elation was evident. Joy was practically shimmering off of his radiant skin as he excitedly turned to Kenny and praised, “Dude, look how much better Stan’s doing! Isn’t he doing so much better? He’s doing so great,” he turned back to Stan, “Thanks, dude.”

“But can I- um,” Stan wiped his face with the sweat towel again, “Do you mind if I stand by? Like, in case anything happens? I won’t intervene or anything, I just want to- you know, be around? If that’s okay.”

“Sure, Stan,” Kyle said before Kenny could get a single word out.

“Dude,” Kenny groaned.

“He won’t be a problem, Kenny. He’s not even gonna say anything, are you Stan? He’ll just be a chaperone,” Kyle took Kenny by the elbow and led him through the house to the living room, sitting him down on the sofa.

Stan followed tentatively. He lingered behind in the kitchen, which was angled in such a way that Stan could see and hear everything on the couch, meanwhile Kenny and Kyle could barely see him, if they could see him at all, from behind the counter.

The both of them settled down against the pillows, and strangely, Kyle seemed a lot more comfortable than Kenny did.

Kenny was putting on his detective mask, the one he wore when he wanted to be entirely impassive. Even the depths of his bright blue eyes lacked emotion as he sat down beside Kyle, looking him up and down in that way that only Kenny does.

Kyle didn’t seem to notice. He was still grinning when he said, “Dude, I mean it, Stan’s been great. He’s been really great. I think this is the best I’ve seen him since the bus accident.”

“And you’re sure about that?” Kenny asked, running a hand through his hair, “Like, you don’t think he’s pullin’ some kinda scheme or something?”

“No, Stan wouldn’t trick me. He’s been really honest. I’m proud of him, really.”

Even though Kyle couldn’t see him, Stan smiled at his praise. Happiness swelled within him, warming his heart and soul.

But he felt his heart sink a little inside his chest when Kenny started speaking again.

“But Kylie-B, it’s only been a day. Not even a full day.”

“Exactly. It’s only been a day, and he’s already progressed so much. It’s literally insane.”

_ “He’s _ literally insane.”

Both Kyle and Stan went still. Stan watched as Kyle teared up a bit, turning his back toward Kenny on the couch.

“Shit,” Kenny mumbled, moving forward to comfort him, “I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t really. You know I love the guy to death, you know I wouldn’t say anything to hurt him. That just slipped out…”

Kyle recovered only slightly, “Yeah, I know.”

“Jus’ keep an eye on him. Keep your guard up,” Kenny said, “I know you think everything’s fine, but don’t settle down just yet, okay? Don’t forget everything that’s happened so far.”

“Yeah, I know,” he repeated.

Kenny pursed his lips, “Okay, enough about Stan. How are you? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kyle actually smiled.

“Well, I can see your pretty pearly whites again, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

Kyle laughed.

Kenny did not, neither did Stan.

“Really, though,” Kenny said, “How is everything? We left off at a pretty rough spot.”

“Yeah,” Kyle sobered almost immediately, “How’s the North Park kid?”

“He’s, um- He’s alive.”

Stan felt something stiffen inside of him. It made him uneasy when Kenny shot a warning look toward the kitchen, as if telling Stan to back off.

“Is he okay?” Kyle pleaded, “I never meant for him to get hurt.”

“I know you didn’t, babe, and he knows that, too. He’s, uh-” Kenny rubbed the back of his neck, “He’s expected to recover. He got hurt bad. Real bad. But, uh, yeah, he’s predicted to be okay.”

“Oh,” Kyle nodded knowingly.

“So,” Kenny blew air out of his lips, “Stan hasn’t, uh--Geez, it feels weird to ask this. I know he’s listening to us right now. I think I can see him, actually. Whatever. I don’t care. I have to ask it. … Stan hasn’t been beating up on you like that, has he?”

“Hell, no.”

“He hasn’t?”

“Hell, no. He hasn’t hurt me since-...” he trailed off.   
He bit a fingernail before continuing where he left off, “Well, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s really been doing better today.”

“I, um,” Kenny looked the other direction, “Your brother told me that something happened to your wrists.”

“Oh.”

Even all the way from the kitchen, Stan could see the panic in Kyle’s eyes. It was like alarm bells were ringing through his head and Stan could hear them, too. He felt something icky and nauseating creep up the back of his spine as he watched Kyle roll up his sleeves and surrender his wrists for inspection.

Kenny took a sharp inhale at the gruesome sight. He looked like he was going to break down, but he was holding himself together at the seams, tears welling in his eyes.

At seeing his reaction, Kyle bit his lip guiltily, lowering his head in shame.

Kenny wiped at his nose and took a little vile out of his parka pocket, “While, uh, while I was at your house getting your needles, I picked up some Neosporin, too. Is it okay if I-?”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Kyle shot Stan a look from the living room, “Stan? Is it okay?”

Stan swallowed.

“It’s not a pill,” Kyle explained, “It’s not even really medicine. It’s like a cream. Is it okay if I have some?”

Stan’s anxiety was threatening to boil over and make him explode from the inside out. Nonetheless, he managed to give a curt nod, before disappearing around the kitchen counter so the others wouldn’t see him struggle to keep his breathing under control.

Kenny watched the whole exchange tentatively, very much disturbed by the way Kyle had to ask permission.

But Kyle wasn’t disturbed at all. If anything, he looked relieved.

“See, Ken, isn’t he doing great?” Kyle grinned as he let Kenny rub the cream over his wrists, “Normally he gets all antsy and he fuckin’ hates it when I take meds. ‘Cause he gets nervous, you know? But it’s only been a day and he’s already doing better.”

“Mhm,” Kenny didn’t seem quite as impressed. He kept his gaze down at the redness, carefully letting his fingers smooth the cream over the blisters, hives, and cuts. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down apprehensively.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked, noticing his restlessness.

“It’s just-” Kenny took a breath, “Did Stan do this?”

“Did Stan-?” Kyle trailed off, then shut down completely, “You mean, did he-?”

“-Your wrists, Kyle,” Kenny pleaded. He had been deadpan for nearly his entire visit so far, but now he was finally starting to break. He seemed to be seconds away from weeping, but he was miraculously holding himself together for Kyle’s sake.   
“Did Stan do this to you?” he whispered, holding onto both of his wrists.

“No,” Kyle shook his head, his gaze not leaving his marred injuries.

“He didn’t?” Kenny was now wrestling to keep himself composed, “But I mean, just, what? Then how did this happen, Kylie-B? This isn’t normal. This is really, really bad. How did this happen?”

Kyle’s eyes flitted to the kitchen, but only for a second.

“I did it,” Kyle said, his head low, “It’s my fault. I did it.”

Kenny’s mouth dropped, “Kylie-B…”

“Yeah… I did it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t-” Kenny pulled himself back, wiping his hands over his face and groaning. He let out a strained sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose when he asked, “You’re sure?”

Kyle looked to the left, “Yeah.”

Kenny peculiarly eyed the prominent bruise on the base of Kyle’s skull, then looked to the smaller ones still dotting the sides of his face. It was impossible to read what he was thinking from the somber expression on his face; Kenny was entirely cold-fish.   
But the concern was still evident in his voice when he asked, “Kylie-B, is it okay if I keep an eye on you for a while? Like, I know you say everything’s fine, and that’s cool and all, but there's a lot I still don’t understand, you know? Can I, like, come by tomorrow?”

Stan tried to contain his anxiety when Kyle simply answered: “Yeah, dude, of course.”

“And are you still gonna be going to school? Will I see you there?”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“Stan’s still fine with you going to school?”

“I mean, we haven’t talked about it or whatever,” Kyle looked to the kitchen, “But I’m sure he’d be fine with it. I mean, I’m staying here for a bit. I don’t really want to go home right now, and his parents are out of town. So it’s just the two of us. I’m sure he’d get bored of me eventually and agree to take me to school just to have something to do.”

“Dude,” Kenny’s brow furrowed, also shooting a look at the kitchen, “He’d never get bored of  _ you.  _ C’mon. That’s just preposterous. If you want to go to school, you have to tell him.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Kyle said, tenuous hesitation in his tone, “Today’s already going so great. I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“If you think it’s best,” Kenny sighed, running a hand through his moppy blonde hair, “So I can come by tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

Stan could tell from the look in Kenny’s eyes that the last thing he wanted to do on the planet earth was leave. There was so much longing evident in his bright blue irises, he looked like he was latching onto Kyle by his expression alone. But by whatever strange magic it was, Kenny gave Kyle a parting hug, and then pried himself away from the couch.

He gave Stan a strange look as he headed for the front door, “Unblock my number, Stan. Let him call me if he wants anything.”

Stan didn’t take kindly to being ordered around, but with Kyle’s presence in the room, he had to oblige.

“Yeah, sure.”

Kenny replied by shoving the diabetic bag at Stan’s chest, and then walking out the front door, leaving it unlocked behind him.

As soon as he left, Stan buried his face in his sweat towel and groaned.

Kyle peeked his head over the kitchen counter, “Hey, you okay, Stan?”

“Yeah,” Stan grumbled against the fabric, “Just stressed out, I guess.”

“I think you did great, Stan,” Kyle said earnestly, his jade-green eyes looking up at him honestly, “I could tell you were really anxious, but you didn’t freak out at all. You remained calm, you’re really doing a lot better.”

“God damn it, Kyle, I’m supposed to be looking out for you, not the other way around,” Stan muttered. His words were harsh, but his tone was soft and weak.

“You are,” Kyle said, patting the spot beside him on the sofa, “I had a great day.”

“You did?” Stan joined him on the couch.

“Yeah. This has probably been the best day since my birthday last year,” Kyle gave a half-smile, “You did great, Stan.”

Stan didn’t want to say “thank you.” He didn’t feel the need to, he felt the impulse to say something else.

“Hey, Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

Stan hugged a couch pillow across his chest when he asked, “Why’d you tell Kenny that your wrists are your fault? I mean, it’s because of the zip-ties.”

A lengthened silence absorbed the living room.

Kyle tugged his sleeves down over his wrists to cover them up and said, “Well, you were right, Stan. I wouldn’t be so cut up if I didn’t pull on them; it is sort of my fault. I should’ve known you knew what you were doing when you tied me up like that. I should’ve had more faith in you.”

Stan was weak with gratitude, “Really?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, after everything you’ve done for me today, the least I could do is have a little trust in you, right?” Kyle took a steadying breath, “Sorry I’ve been a little timid around you recently. It probably wasn’t doing you any favors.”

“It’s fine. I mean, you were going through a lot,” Stan shrugged.

Kyle shook his head, “I don’t think that’s a good excuse. I’m gonna do my best to put more faith in you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“-It’s only fair. You’re doing better for me, I’ll do better for you. Like super best friends.”

“Yeah,” Stan smiled, gratitude resonating inside of him, “Yeah, just like super best friends.”


	27. Chapter 27

Stan barely remembered falling asleep that night. The last thing he could clearly recall was sprawling out on the couch as he watched a Japanese movie with Kyle, a Bluetooth speaker playing Gorillaz in the background. But he found himself waking up around eight in the morning.

He had a crick in his back after having slept on the sofa all night. Slightly dazed, he yawned and looked around.

“Good morning,” Kyle said. He was sitting right beside him on the couch, leaning back against a pillow, a phone in his hands, “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“No, you didn’t,” Stan mumbled, rubbing his face awake. He stretched his arms way over his head, his biceps wonderfully sore from yesterday’s workout. He let out a sigh of contentment.

“Wow, I can hear your back cracking from here,” Kyle exclaimed, eyebrows raised, “That must’ve felt good.”

“You have no idea,” Stan yawned again.

“How’d you sleep?” Kyle asked.

“Like a baby. You?”

A flash of guilt passed Kyle’s face, “I, um. I didn’t really sleep last night.”

“Oh,” Stan felt guilty, too, “On purpose, or-?”

“No. Just couldn’t fall asleep. Still getting used to not having the pills, you know?” Kyle shrugged, before turning back to the phone in his hands.

It was just then that Stan realized.

“Kyle,” Stan said, feeling like he had been slapped awake, “How did you get your phone?”

“Oh, no. This is yours, Stan,” Kyle explained, “Don’t be mad, I wasn’t going through it or anything. I respect your privacy. It’s just that while you were sleeping, a lot of people were trying to message you. Like, a _lot._ I just picked it up to see who was texting so much and why. Sorry, I hope you don’t think-”

“-No, I’m not mad,” Stan sat up on the sofa, “Here, lemme see.”

He took his phone from Kyle’s hands and started scrolling through the screen. Kyle hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that a _lot_ of people were trying to reach him. If anything, he had understated just how many people messaged him. It seemed as though the entire population of South Park had texted him at least five times or more.

“I think you need to get better at answering your phone, dude,” Kyle said gently, “Some of those messages are two weeks old.”

“Damn, really?” Stan was astounded, “I’m usually better at this. I mean, I’m on my phone a lot.”

“Well a lot of stuff has happened in the last two weeks,” Kyle said, looking a little guilty, “I guess you’ve been… preoccupied.”

“That’s a nice way of wording it,” Stan sadly smiled. He turned back to his phone, reading that he had “156 Missed Messages.” That was _excluding_ the texts from group-chats.

He gave a low, long whistle.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Kyle chuckled, “Are you going to respond to any of them?”

“This might be a bad call on my part, but I don’t really want to until later,” Stan said, setting his phone aside, “What is it all the teenage girls are saying? ‘Mental health first,’ or something like that.”

“I mean, take a break from social media if you want, Stan. I think that might actually be good for you and your mental health,” Kyle offered, “I’d just check if any of those texts are emergencies first. A lot were coming in. It wouldn’t hurt to check.”

“They’re not emergencies,” Stan said, though he started to check them anyway, “If they were emergencies, they would call.”

“Good point.”

Stan was skimming through the messages to be sure, though he was mostly doing it to assure Kyle, not himself. He didn’t read all one hundred and fifty six messages, of course, he only took the time to read a few.

For one thing, he read a recent message from Clyde:  
 **Haven’t seen u since Bebes party. U ok?**

There was one from Bebe herself, in all caps:  
 **YOU RUINED MY PARTY YOU A$$HOLE!!! IM NEVER INVITING YOU TO A PARTY EVER AGAIN YOU RUINED EVERYTHING HHHHH YOU ARE A BICTH**

Despite Bebe’s attempts to pose herself as a threat in that message, Stan could only laugh. Intimidation in real life was a world apart from intimidation by text. The message made Bebe sound like a whining toddler, not anything Stan had to worry about. It was even funnier that she misspelled “bitch.”

He skimmed through a few more, mostly just for enjoyment. It seemed that most of the messages he missed were just memes from friends and questions about the party. But there was one text in particular that drew in his attention.

It was from Craig:  
 **dude are you coming to the charity game? you’ve been out for a long time now. prolly you don’t even know about it. just wanted to warn you that coach is gonna put Token on qb if you don’t show. and we all know Token fkn sucks w communication. i refuse to play receiver for him. so come.**

He sent another one only six minutes after he sent the first:  
 **if you come to our game, i would be soooooo happy.**

Now this was interesting.

Craig was Stan’s favorite wide receiver on the high school football team. He never seemed to care about much of anything besides Tweak, (Craig just always had a blasé personality) but he still showed up to every game and every practice right on time. So over the years, Stan had grown to assume that Craig really valued the sport, but just didn’t want to show it. He was actually quite skilled, too. He was one of the few people on the team that Stan could actually say he had faith in.

But they were off-season. They hadn’t had a game in months. The only thing Stan and his football buddies had actively been doing as a team was getting together to train a few times a week, and maybe run a few practice passes. Craig had been to all of them, and so had Stan until recently. But now, all of a sudden, Craig was talking about some kind of actual game that was coming up.

From the texts alone, Stan couldn’t tell right away if Craig was being serious or if this was some kind of joke. Craig had both the habit of playing text farces and the habit of sending the most random texts imaginable when he was high or drunk. Both habits happened often enough that Stan easily believed they could both apply to this instance.

But there seemed to be a strange likelihood of truth to his words. Craig spelled almost everything correctly, and he even used punctuation. Those were automatic signs that he was at least sober when he sent those texts.

Stan was about to call Craig to ask about it, but a raucous sound caught his attention.

He realized with a heavy heart that what he heard was Kyle’s stomach growling. Even from the other side of the couch, he distinctly heard the bleak, distressing sound of hunger pains. Kyle just looked embarrassed, but the grave way he hugged his stomach said everything Stan needed to know.

“Oh, Kyle,” Stan frowned, “If you were hungry, you should have woken me up. I would’ve gotten you anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kyle played it off, “You were asleep, and I’m not even really that hungry.”

As if on cue, Kyle’s stomach immediately let out another angry sound.

It wasn’t even comical, not in the slightest.

“Hey, let’s try to eat some solid food today, okay, Kyle?” Stan proposed as lightly as he could.

Even with Stan’s levity, Kyle was noticeably off-put by his suggestion. His uninjured foot started to tap on the ground, but he didn’t say anything.

Stan tried not to bite his lip, “I know you don’t want to throw up, but I’m pretty sure you won’t, okay? We can just have soft foods if you want, but I really think you need something a little more than just a protein shake or broth.”

Kyle nodded, though it looked like he didn’t really agree.

Stan helped him get to the kitchen and sat him down in a chair. Just like yesterday, he prepared the food while he set up a Gorillaz playlist on the speaker. As the music started playing, Kyle eased, but only slightly. His posture was relaxed and his foot was tapping at a much slower pace, though hesitance was still present in his expression.

“So what time’s your date with Kenny?” Stan asked, trying to loosen him up.

“Date? He’s just coming over.”

“Excuse me for trying to make a funny,” Stan chortled dryly, mostly at himself. He was never skilled at telling jokes. The only times in his life that he was appropriately funny were when he didn’t realize it, and a joke just flew over his head.

Peering back into the fridge, Stan asked over his shoulder, “So do you know what time he’s coming over?”

“No. He didn’t say last night,” Kyle took a breath before suggesting, “You could unblock him and call him if you want to know for sure.”

Stan swallowed, “Not just yet.”

Kyle noticed his edge, but he didn’t push anything, “Okay.”

A few moments of silence passed, Stan working on breakfast wordlessly. The only sounds that permeated the kitchen were Kyle’s foot steadily tapping and the Gorillaz music in the background.

Again, Stan didn’t like this music. But at some point while he was making breakfast, he found himself actually nodding his head and humming along to a nice tune. He didn’t even realize it at first, but when he did, he had to admit he was really impressed.

“Hey, Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s this song?”

“Oh no,” Kyle smiled, “Are you going to block it and remove it from the playlist?”

“No, I actually really like this one,” Stan smiled, too; not because he was happy, but because Kyle was smiling. He used a butter knife to slice an avocado as he casually asked, “What’s the name of it?”

“‘Dracula.’ I think this is my favorite one.”

Stan dropped the butter knife.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, “Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Stan said, stooping down to pick it up and throw it in the sink.

“Do you want help?”

“No, no I’m good. You just sit back,” Stan said distractedly, his mind elsewhere.

For whatever reason, when Kyle said “Dracula,” Stan found himself thinking back to Ike Broflovski. A chill crept up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck started to stand up. Though for the life of him, Stan couldn’t pinpoint why his body was responding this way.

He thought back to the time when he called him a vampire. They had been right here, in Stan’s own house, when Ike said it. The words themselves were not entirely brash in nature, but to this day, their impressions still left Stan with emotional scars. By calling him a vampire, he was accusing Stan of “sucking the life” out of Kyle for his own benefit, while Kyle followed after him like a moth drawn to a flame.

That was seconds before Ike said that Kyle might have a “milder version of Stockholm syndrome.” The creep.

Another distasteful memory conjured from the back of Stan’s brain when he reflected on the first time Kyle fainted. It was back in the farmhouse bathroom. Stan had cradled him in his arms for God knows how long on the tiled floors, murmuring little nothings and everythings practically inaudibly against his skin.  
He remembered asking Kyle if he also thought Stan was a vampire.

He hated to accept that at the time, but the sentence fit perfectly. Kyle had the life sucked out of him. He was a total drone in Stan’s arms, while he feverishly fussed over him. But being unconscious, of course, Kyle was never able to give an answer.

It might be too much to assume that Kyle even heard the question at all. The state he was in, he probably was not aware of anything happening around him. He might not have been remotely cognizant of the cold tiles, the green grapes, or the stomach pump-- the stomach pump that _Ike_ was operating.

Stan set the butter knife down, leaning his hands down on the kitchen counter when he asked, “Kyle, why do you think Kenny showed up yesterday, but not your brother?”

Kyle just raised an eyebrow, “Where’s this coming from?”

Stan let out a terse noise, “Nowhere. It’s nothing. I’m just- I’m only thinking. Okay? I’m only thinking.”  
He feigned cooking a little while longer, before he pressed again with less intensity, “I thought that Ike would come looking for you, but I haven’t seen him since Monday. He and Kenny usually partner together, but he didn’t come with Kenny yesterday. And even if they didn’t gang up, I still think Ike would’ve shown up on my doorstep by now.”

Kyle shrugged.

“Don’t you think Ike should have already done something? Something to take you home or to get you away from me?” Stan stressed.

“I don’t know, dude,” Kyle didn’t make eye contact, “Maybe he’s still celebrating.”

“Can’t argue with you there. He’s pretty self-centered,” he paused and tried to collect himself, “But am I wrong to think that we should be worried he hasn’t shown?”

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Kyle remarked, crossing his arms.

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you so upset he hasn’t come by?”

“I’m not upset, I’m just-” Stan turned away so Kyle wouldn’t have to see him try to hold himself together, “I just have a really bad feeling about him. You know I don’t trust him. And you can’t get mad at me for that, ‘cause he doesn’t trust me either. Or Kenny.”

Kyle’s ears picked up on that last line, “Kenny?”

“Yeah,” Stan slumped, “Kenny doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Do you think you’re just saying that because you’re sad? You can’t really mean it. I’m sure Kenny doesn’t actually-”

“-No. He told me. Back at Bebe’s party, before you showed up. He flat-out told me he doesn’t trust me. After all that avoiding he’s been doing, like it was all my fault.”

Kyle gave him a sad look, which only made him feel worse. Stan watched Kyle rise from his seat, and limp over to Stan’s side. He took Stan’s hand and gave it a squeeze for comfort.

“It’s okay, Stan,” Kyle said, “These are some pretty shitty days. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: all of this will pass.”

Stan squeezed his hand back, “When have you said that before? I can’t really remember.”

“When you were acting weird a week or so ago,” Kyle explained, “When you first took me out of my house and drove me to Tegridy Farms. I knew you were just going through a thing, and your mental health would restore eventually, and I was right. You’re already showing improvement.”

As much as Stan knew that Kyle was trying to praise him, something about his words felt insulting, not encouraging.

He pulled his hand away from Kyle’s and looked him in the eye, “I wasn’t ‘acting weird’ back then.”

Kyle smirked playfully, “I mean, yeah, you sort of were, dude.”

“No, Kyle. You were the one who was sick in the head, don’t you remember? I helped you get out of there. I was doing the right thing.”

Kyle’s smirk faltered. In that one second, he went from being playful to being unsure. He swallowed a little before saying, “Yeah, but you were sort of acting weird. Only a little. But you’re right, though. You were doing what you thought was right at the time.”

Stan’s couldn’t help but notice how Kyle referred to ‘what he _thought_ was right.’

Kyle went on, “But to give credit where it’s due, you were definitely a lot better that night then you were other times. So, yeah, I’ll give you points for that one.”

Stan had to push aside the breakfast plates so that he could rest his fists on the counter. Giving Kyle a pointed look, he challenged, “Okay, I’m sorry, but what the hell are you talking about?”

Kyle went still.

“Well?”

“Stan!” Kyle laughed nervously. He wore a smile, but his eyes were still brewing with panic, “Don’t get upset, it’s fine. I’m not mad at you. You apologized, remember? And I forgave you. I was only making a statement. I- Sorry if I brought it up too soon, or whatever, I-”

“-Stop saying sorry. Geez,” Stan squeezed his eyes shut, “Yes, I apologized for the zip-ties. I was acting weird and I scared you that night. I’m sorry.”

“And I already forgave you, dude. You’re in the clear.”

“Yup,” Stan said, though he wasn’t entirely satisfied, “Just one little slip-up. It’s behind us now.”

Kyle pulled away, “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘one.’ And I definitely wouldn’t say ‘little.’”

“What are you talking about, Kyle? Are you feeling alright?”

“Dude,” Kyle couldn’t even nervous-laugh anymore; he was drawing into himself, “Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Look, I know you apologized for everything. And I forgave you. I did. For everything. But just pretending none of it ever happened is not going to help you get any better.”

“Kyle, you’re starting to sound as delusional as you did back in Laramie,” Stan said, his breath hitching, “What ‘it’ are you talking about? I only slipped up once, and that was with the zip-ties. And you admitted yourself, that it was your fault you got hurt because of them, not mine.”

Kyle absentmindedly raised a hand to the bruise at the base of his skull, “Are you sure, Stan?”

“What?”

“Are you sure?” Kyle puled, his voice hoarse, “You can’t think of any other times?”

Stan felt his heart break when he heard the despondency in Kyle’s voice. The despair in his tone, combined with the forlornness in his jade-green eyes, was enough to move mountains. Just Kyle’s unadulterated defenselessness made remorse gnaw away at Stan’s insides.

“Kyle,” he hushed softly, “I think your confusion might be coming back.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Kyle?”

The redhead wiped at his eyes, and then promptly turned away. He cleared his throat and said, “So, Stan, I was thinking maybe you should try working out again today.”

Stan had to take a step back.

There were two remarkable things that just happened within the same fraction of a second, and they both caught Stan completely by surprise.

Firstly, Kyle changed the subject so suddenly and so directly that it made Stan’s head spin. He felt like he got whiplash. Whether it was a just a random change in subject or a byproduct of his confusion, Stan felt like he had been slapped awake just by the quick shift of it all.

Secondly, Kyle had a change in character. But in a good way.  
Mere seconds earlier, he was folding in on himself, acting timid and nervous. But just in that quick shift, he demonstrated a spurt of his old self, his direct, fiery, no-nonsense self. And Stan couldn’t help but gush at the fact that at least Kyle was starting to act like himself again, even if he only did so in bits and pieces at a time.

“Woah,” Stan laughed in surprise. He turned back to preparing the breakfasts, “Okay, Kyle. Sounds good. But how come? You don’t think I’m going soft, do you?”

“Dude, no way. Your physique is fine. It’s fucking pristine, actually,” Kyle crossed his arms, “I was just-... It occurred to me that yesterday, you were doing a lot better at controlling yourself after you worked out. If it’s something that helps you release stress, you should do it.”

“I’m not stressed,” Stan smiled.

“No,” Kyle agreed reluctantly, “But you were acting-... I don’t know. You just-”

“-I wasn’t acting weird. We were only talking. You were acting weird.”

“Right,” Kyle furrowed his brow, “I’m the one acting weird.”

Stan went on preparing the breakfasts for a moment longer, before innocently offering, “But I wouldn’t mind working out anyway. I really like doing it. And if you’re feeling well enough, you can join me.”

“Whatever you want, dude,” Kyle said, his tone unreadable.

Stan slid a plate across the counter to him, “I made avocado toast. I know it’s a thing for millennials, but it’s still really good. And good for you. Healthy fats and carbs all in one place.”

“‘kay,” Kyle mumbled, sitting down with his plate. Stan joined him across the table with his own plate. Through a mouthful of his own breakfast, Stan commented, “You seem tense.”

“Sorry,” was all Kyle said in response.

“Are you tense because Kenny’s coming over?”

“Let’s just say that’s the reason why, yeah.”

That answer didn’t satisfy Stan in the slightest. He couldn’t help but wonder where that flash of Kyle’s old self went. It was like his personality left just as quickly as it showed up.

Stan frowned. Being the hungry athlete that he was, he was already finished with his own slice of avocado toast, so he went to the fridge to make himself an omelet. As he prepared the ingredients, he attempted to make yet another light proposal, “You know, I normally do cardio on Sundays, but I don’t want to have to leave you for a few hours just so I can go on a run. I was thinking maybe I could do some easy pilates today. You know, stretches, things like that. And maybe you can do them with me, it might be really good for your injuries.”

“You mean that?”

“Sure, why not? I hate cardio anyway,” Stan shrugged.

Kyle’s elation was evident. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t need to smile to show just how ecstatic he was. The spark in his eyes did all the smiling for him. Kyle gave Stan a brief thumbs up before starting to eat his breakfast.

Turning his back away from Kyle to cook the omelet, Stan took a moment to collect his thoughts.

His brain clouding uncomfortably, Stan couldn’t help but notice how fluctuated Kyle’s emotions were. Just within the past few minutes, his personality was an oscillating ebb and flow. His state of being wavered so rapidly that Stan had barely been able to keep up.

This alone was concerning as it already is.

But the more Stan thought about it, he realized with intense consternation that _he_ was the reason why Kyle’s feelings fluctuated so much. Every dip in conversation, every ounce of hesitation that Kyle produced, he did that in response to whatever Stan was doing. When Stan was frustrated, Kyle was analeptic, when Stan was happy, Kyle was on cloud nine.

That wasn’t all. Stan realized with unadulterated intensity that none of the feelings Kyle displayed in the last few minutes were foul play.  
(Stan would know; he was always able to tell when Kyle faked emotions. He might not always address it, but he always knew it. Other people Stan couldn’t read very well, but with Kyle, Stan always knew.)   
Every single phase in Kyle’s emotional potpourri was genuine. His dismay, his hesitance, his happiness, his stubbornness, and everything in between was all real.

Something about that was just _terrifying._ That meant that Stan could do whatever he wanted, and Kyle would have an immediate bodily reaction to it--whether it was warranted or sensible or not. It was like Kyle was a ball of putty in Stan’s hands, and he could be molded in whatever way Stan saw suitable.

Kyle must not have even realized he was doing it.

This had to mean Kyle’s confusion was returning, right? But if that were the case, it would have to mean that Kyle didn’t fully recover from his diabetic ketoacidosis; that would mean Stan took him off the tubes too soon.

Or, even worse. Kyle could have been acting this way for even longer than Stan realized, keeping his emotions in tune with Stan’s long before he was able to recognize it.

For perhaps the millionth time, Stan hated both of his theories.

“Stan?”

“Yeah, Kyle?”

“Your omelet’s on fire.”

Not too long after the words left Kyle’s mouth, the smoke detector overhead started to release its ear-piercing beeps, and Stan finally realized that his omelet was, in fact, burning to a crisp. He threw the pan in the sink and bolted to open the kitchen window, releasing the smoke.

Using a rag, he ushered the smoke out of the window, coughing only a few times. Once the smoke detectors finally stopped beeping, Stan was able to breath again. It was a minor fire, and no damage was done, but the stench of smoke still reeked in the kitchen.

“Shit,” Stan grumbled, clenching his fists, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, I have my breakfast right here,” Kyle said, “You okay, Stan?”

The quarterback clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, anxiousness writhing up inside of him. He couldn’t bring himself to join Kyle at the table, he was too antsy to sit down. His mouth was dry when he said, “I just got distracted, I guess.”

“By what?”

“I dunno. My thoughts?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t mind talking about it-” Kyle’s eyes were wallowing in worry, and Stan loathed it, “-if you think it would help, Stan.”

“It wouldn’t,” Stan clenched his fists again. He crossed over to the table, where up close he could see that Kyle had barely eaten a thing.

Stan felt his heart hammer in his chest when he ordered, “Kyle, finish your breakfast.”

“I’m not done yet. I’m just-”

“-I’m not letting you get sick again. Finish your goddamn breakfast.”

Kyle flinched.

Balling his fists up, Stan went to the kitchen to collect his phone, and then proceeded to the front door to slip on his athletic shoes.

“Stan?” Kyle limped in from the table, his voice thick with dread, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m gonna go for a run,” Stan said, tying the laces on his shoes, “But I need you to do some things for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Kyle bit his lip, “What do you want?”

“Number one,” Stan shuddered, anxiety gripping his throat as he commanded, “You lock the door behind me when I leave. Got that? Make sure it’s locked the second I walk out the door. Number two, close and lock the kitchen window. Number three, finish your goddamn breakfast. All of it. Take pricks if you need to, but no medicine. Number four, don’t open the door for anyone. Not even Kenny. If it’s Kenny, he can wait on the driveway ‘till I come back. No opening the door at all. Number five, if you need me for _anything,_ you use the home phone to call my cell phone. I’ll have it with me when I run, okay? The home phone is in the kitchen. You know my number, right?”

“Of course I know your number,” Kyle whispered in a voice so mouselike it made him look even smaller than he already was. He actually looked so small and frail that a gust of wind could have blown him away.

For some reason, it looked like Kyle wanted to cry.

Stan wanted to cry, too. But he didn’t. He just laced up his shoes and walked outside. As soon as he heard the _click_ of the door locking behind him, he ran off, his shoes pounding the pavement to the beat of his heart.

* * *

Stan didn’t stop running until about two hours later, when even in the height of the winter, he could feel sweat dripping down his back. It probably wasn’t safe for the average person to run for so long and so fast in such cold weather, but Stan’s body worked like a tank. It didn’t stop for anything.

Stan did have to stop, though, when he felt he had left Kyle alone for far too long. He hadn’t gotten any calls from him, which was good. But still there was that daunting separation anxiety that preyed on the back of Stan’s mind, and he couldn’t outrun it.

When he jogged up his driveway, he came to an immediate halt.

His heart was already ramming into his ribcage because of the run, but now it was pounding double-time. His anxiety was spiking, his palms going clammy. Overwhelmingly, fear started to unman him.

Stan didn’t even know why. He hadn’t even opened the front door, but he was already freaking out in preparation of something he didn’t know.

He knocked at the door, calling, “Kyle? I’m home!”

When Stan waited a little too long for someone to open the door, he pulled at the doorknob. It was locked, but with a few more tugs, Stan was able to break the lock with his hands and dash inside.

Panic surging through him, Stan made a beeline for the kitchen, hoping to find Kyle simply sitting down at the table, an empty plate in his hands.

Instead, Stan ran in to discover an empty room still reeking of smoke.

“Kyle?!” he shrieked, dazed as he spun around in the room.

“In here…”

Stan felt something drop in his gut when he heard Kyle murmuring from the bathroom. His head heavy on his shoulders, he trotted down the hall to the bathroom, where he found Kyle curled up on the floor by the toilet.

“Oh Kyle,” Stan sighed, “Did you throw up again?”

“No,” Kyle wrapped his arms around his midsection, “Just felt like I was going to.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“‘cause I only _felt_ like I was going to, I didn’t actually.”

Still panting heavily and dripping with sweat, Stan dropped down to the floor beside him, sighing and running his hands through his hair. But before he could get a word out, Kyle spoke first.

“I’m sorry I’m such a problem-child,” Kyle whispered, resting his chin on his knees as he hugged himself, “I never used to be like this. I was always so independent.”

“Kyle, _please,_ for the love of God, stop apologizing,” Stan said, his voice hoarse and dry, “It breaks my heart every time you do.”

Kyle hugged himself tighter.

“Why’d you think you were going to throw up? You don’t think you’re getting sick, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle said. But from the tone in his voice, it sounded like he really _did_ know, “On Friday when I was at home, I told Ike how I’ve been puking a lot. He predicted it means I either still have DKA or I developed some kind of jacked-up defense mechanism for, like, when I get scared or stressed or something.”

“Damn,” Stan frowned, “That’s awful. Both options.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

“...”

“What is it with us and bathrooms?” Stan asked half-heartedly, “We’re, like, we’re always in the bathroom together when something bad happens.”

Kyle gave a sad laugh, “You know, I never realized that until you pointed it out. That’s true. It’s kind of funny.”

“And sad. Bathrooms are gross.”

“They’re disgusting,” Kyle looked around, “This one is kind of clean though.”

“Thanks. I cleaned it while you were sleeping yesterday. I did my best.”

Kyle bit his lower lip, “You do a lot for me, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Stan shrugged, “It’s no big deal though. I love you.”

“I wish I could do something for you.”

“Kyle, just your presence is enough, really,” Stan pleaded, his heart melting, “And your health. And your personality.”

Kyle snorted, “Those last two things don’t even exist at this point.”

“...Kyle.”

“What?”

“Don’t say that. That’s sad.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s sad. Stop it.”

Kyle stopped hugging his knees, untangling himself until he was loose as they sat on the bathroom floor, “You know what I just remembered?”

“What?”

“In the farmhouse bathroom, I told you I would let you look at my back again,” Kyle stood up from the ground, “I never got the chance to do that for you.”

“Kyle, it’s okay, you don’t have to-”

“-No, I should. You deserve it,” Kyle said, unzipping Butters’ coat and dropping it on the floor, “Help me undress? My back’s still sore. I can’t move that well.”

Stan swallowed, uneasiness clogging the back of his throat. Nonetheless, he stood up and placed himself where he had last time, directly behind Kyle with his hands at the hem of his shirt.

Just as he started tugging the fabric upwards, a memory flashed through his head:  
The night Stan had taken Kyle away for the first time, he remembered Kyle drawing his arms around himself uncomfortably. As he had watched him shy into himself, an ugly thought had risen in the back of Stan’s mind.   
‘Hey, Kyle,’ Stan had whispered, ‘Who’s been dressing you since the accident?’   
Kyle had gone pale, ‘Don’t worry about it.’   
‘No, Kyle, really. I think I need to know...Was it your brother or your dad?’

Someone out there had images.

Exploited.

Susceptible.

Underage.

Naked.

“Stan, you okay? Is it that bad?”

Stan didn’t realize he had already pulled off the shirt until Kyle spoke. But instead of launching into a feverish passion looking after the tender area, Stan turned around. He actually brought his hands to cover his face, turning around so he wouldn’t have to face Kyle’s back, his gut churning and seething with disgust.

“God, I’m sorry…” Stan muttered, his face pressing into his palms, “I just- I can’t. I can’t _look_ at you right now…”

“...Stan, it’s okay. Do you want to-...? Let’s just go do something else for a bit,” Kyle forced a smile, “Hey, how about you and I go-”

 _“-Jesus Christ, Kyle!”_ Kenny McCormick stood at the doorway to the bathroom, his jaw hanging open and his arms loose at his sides. Fear pierced his bright blue eyes as he stared in horror at Kyle’s back.   
“Dude,” Kenny’s voice was shaky as his knees wobbled, “What the fuck did Stan _do_ to you?!”

Kyle covered his mouth, “Oh, God. No, Kenny, no. Stan didn’t- No. He didn’t do this at all. No, he’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all okay. Stan didn’t do anything.”

“How did you even get in here?” Stan asked, taking his hands away from his face.

“The front door was wide open, so I thought there was an emergency-” Kenny visibly swallowed, still staring at Kyle’s back, “-And I was right. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Kyle struggled to put his shirt back on. It looked like it was paining him, but he fought back anyway, all the while saying, “No, Kenny. No, no you don’t understand-”

“-See, Kyle I _knew_ something was wrong when you said you’d cut your wrists yourself. I _knew_ it had to do something with Stan. And now there’s _this…”_ Kenny offered his hand, “Kylie-B, come home with me, okay? I don’t want you staying with Stan anymore. There’s plenty of room at the Scotch place. I’ll take good care of you.”

Kyle drew away, “Kenny, everything is _fine._ Stan didn’t-”

“-Stop covering for him,” Kenny cried, his eyes starting to water, “You’re never gonna get any better if you stick around so he can just hurt you again, and _he’s_ never gonna get any better if he has you in close range to strangle whenever he feels like it!”

“Kenny!” Kyle was mortified, “Don’t say that!”

“I mean it, Kylie-B! Come home with me! Please,” Kenny pleaded.

When Kyle still refused to take his hand, Kenny reached over and grabbed him by the elbow. With a gentle tug he started ushering him out of the bathroom, while Kyle tried to pull his arm back.

Adrenaline crashing through him, Stan shot forward and shoved his arm away. Kenny backed away before Stan could punch him just in the nick of time.

“Hey! Kyle doesn’t like being grabbed!” Stan yelled, his hands balled into fists.

Kenny reared up by raising his own fists in preparation, “Oh and all of a sudden, you actually care about what Kyle doesn’t like, now? When the fuck did _this_ happen?”

“Stan, don’t hit Kenny,” Kyle pleaded, his voice numb with shock.

“I’m going to if he grabs you again!” Stan thundered back, “Or if he tries to take you away! You’re not leaving!”

“You can’t just decide that!” Kenny shrieked, “Kyle has his own goddamn life! And I don’t want ‘im to just throw in the towel and take this kind of abusive crap from you, just to make you happy! Don’t you see how wrong that is?!”

Without grabbing him, Kenny tried once again to offer his hand out to Kyle. This time, the tears in his eyes were dangerously close to falling when he begged, “Kylie-B, please. I don’t want you two together anymore. I won’t let him hurt you ever again if you come with me. Will you please come home with me?”

Kyle looked to Stan for an answer.

“Don’t look at him, Kylie, look at me,” Kenny’s voice was laced in panic, “He can’t decide for you. Only you can decide for yourself.”

Stan’s gut was boiling, “Kyle?”

“Kenny, I can’t.”

Stan smiled.

Kenny just let out a muffled cry of anguish.

“Kenny, it’s fine,” Kyle struggled to put his shirt back on as he spoke, “Everything’s fine. Stan’s doing great. And I’m okay, and you don’t need to worry.”

“Kylie-B,” Kenny was still paralyzed in shock, “I- Are you _sure?”_

“Yes, I am. I’m okay, and I don’t need to leave Stan anytime soon,” when he finished putting his shirt back on, Kyle handed Butters’ blue coat over, “Here. I never got the chance to give this back.”

Kenny’s bewilderment was excruciating to view from the outside. It was like his entire body was both in a state of fight and flight at the same time. He was like a deer in the headlights, but the deer was holding himself back from charging the headlights dead-on.

His blue eyes darted from Kyle to Stan and back again as he said, “Please come to school tomorrow.”

“We haven’t had that conversation yet,” Stan cut in.

“Please come to school tomorrow,” Kenny pleaded, his eyes still darting madly, “I- I have no control over what happens here. At least at school I can look out for you, Kylie-B.”

Kyle gave Stan a desperate look.

Stan clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Stan.”

“Stan, please?”

“Fine,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “We’ll be at school tomorrow. Now get the fuck out of here, Kenny.”

The blonde barely seemed satisfied by Stan’s agreement. He was still shaky on his knees, nervously looking between them when he said; “Okay. And I swear if y’all don’t show up, I’m gonna, like, call the police. Or the national guard. Or whoever I can, okay? I’m not gonna- I can’t just-”

“-It’s okay, Ken,” Kyle assured, “We’ll be there.”

“You can leave now,” Stan said defensively.

Kenny sniffed and wiped his nose, “Kylie-B, can I give you a hug, first?”

“Oh God, Kenny,” Kyle soft-pedaled, his voice as smooth as honey, “Of course you can, dude. Yes, of course.”

Kenny wrapped Kyle up in his arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck as they stood in each other’s embrace. Stan couldn’t help but notice how intently Kenny was gripping him, like he was afraid of letting go.

“I’m not gonna force you to come home with me,” Kenny whispered against Kyle’s hair, “‘cause I’m not gonna force you to do anything. I think it’s your choice. Just _please_ reconsider. If anything bad happens again, please think of me first.”

“Okay Kenny, but nothing bad’s going to happen. Stan’s doing great.”

Kenny pulled away from the hug, wiping his nose, “Yeah, that’s what you keep saying. Just- Just keep your wits about you, Kyle. I think you need them.”

He shot Stan a nasty look before he reluctantly left the bathroom, Butters’ coat balled up in his hand.

Only when Stan heard the front door closing did he finally relax. He took a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head, “Geez, Kenny really knows how to create tension, doesn’t he?”

Kyle was nowhere near as relieved as Stan was. He was still stiff in his spine, biting his lip as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.

“Kyle? What’s wrong?”

Kyle tore his gaze from his reflection before he said, “Stan, I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but please never hit Kenny.”

“Kyle,” Stan breathed, “He was grabbing you. I didn’t even hit him, but I should’ve. He was grabbing you. You told me you don’t like being touched like that anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter. I mean, after the North Park kid-...” Kyle shook his head, “Don’t ever hit Kenny. Even if you find yourself getting really, really mad at him. Even if you think he deserves it, he doesn’t. Okay?”

Stan felt like he was surrendering his soul when he complied, “Okay.”

“...”

“...”

“So how was your run?”

“It was fine.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

“Do you want to try to eat something?”

“Not really.”

“...”

“...”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “Do you really want to go to school tomorrow?”

There was a kindle of life in Kyle’s jade-green eyes. It flickered only for a second before he nodded and declared, “More than anything.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Temporary implied/referenced child abuse/pornography again.  
> But this one is near the end and it's very brief :)

From the second he woke up, Stan knew he was in for a tough day. Going back to school after a long weekend was difficult enough as it was. But add that to his countless fears and anxieties, in addition to the looming unknown of the day ahead, he knew he was facing a recipe for disaster.

His car was still on the side of the road, walking was impossible considering Kyle’s foot, and riding the bus was out of the question for obvious reasons. So that meant after a tense breakfast and getting ready for the school day, they had to rely on someone else to drive them to school.

Kyle had suggested they ask Kenny for a ride. Stan was opposed to the idea and asked Clyde Donovan to take them instead, who immediately gave them a positive response.

From Stan’s perspective, Clyde seemed a little too excited to drive them to school. He assumed it was because Stan had been out of school and ignoring his texts for two weeks, and now out of the blue, he was asking for a ride. It might have been a little unfair to just abuse Clyde’s friendliness like this, but Clyde didn’t seem to mind. He just looked happy to do them a favor.

Stan rode shotgun while Kyle sat in the backseat and Clyde drove. The car radio was playing some vulgar rap music that was probably culturally inappropriate for Clyde to enjoy, but Stan didn’t address it.

“So,” Clyde said halfway through the drive, “Bebe’s party was kinda fire, huh?”

Kyle and Stan exchanged a look.

“Uh, until the end,” Clyde coughed, “But, uh, before that it was pretty dope. Was that your first party, Kyle?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said from the backseat, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips, “And I agree with you. There were definitely some parts that were great.”

Stan needed to change the subject, “Clyde, the other day Craig was texting me some crazy stuff about a football game we have coming up. Was he just messing with me, or-?”

“Oh no. Yeah, we have one,” Clyde said, pulling into the next lane to make a right turn, “Thursday night at our home stadium. But, like, the guys and I ‘ve talked to coach about how you… haven’t been feeling well lately. So, like, if you don’t want to come, dude, by all means, take a load off. Token will fill your spot.”

Stan crossed his arms, “Token sucks at quarterback.”

“Yeah,” Clyde chuckled, “The dude can’t communicate. But, like, seriously, dude, if you don’t feel like coming, you’re all good. The guys and I are worried about you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Stan readjusted his trademark blue and red hat on his head, “But why do we have a game? We’re off season. And this one just shows up out of nowhere?”

“Nah bro, this is just a charity game. Remember, we usually have one once a year around this time.”

Kyle peeked his head in between the front seats, “What’s a charity game?”

“Oh, they’re so much fun,” Clyde checked the rearview mirror, “It’s like our school and another school get together for a scrimmage, but we treat it like a real game. And we even get the drumline and the cheerleaders out, and the stadium seats are usually  _ packed _ too. Even concessions are going. So, like, it’s pretty much a real game except it doesn’t count for anything on the records.”

“You’re missing the most important part, Clyde,” Stan said, “All the money we pull in for the whole night, from both sides, goes to a charity of choice. We do a different charity every year.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty fire. Looks fuckin’  _ hot _ on our resumés for college. It’s like, ‘Yes. I  _ did _ donate a kazillion dollars to starving children. Thank you for noticing.’”

Kyle gave a half-smile from the backseat, “That does sound great.”

“Oh, and it’s deadass  _ fantastic _ for picking up girls. Ladies  _ love _ that kind of stuff. Especially that year we donated to animal rescue. You know how excited girls get about baby animals.”

“Oh God,” Stan laughed at the memory, “Don’t remind me of that year.”

“Nah, Dude, it was  _ great. _ Our dms literally exploded with a thousand texts a night. I’ve never felt so handsome in my life.”

“Stan, how come I never knew about charity games before?” Kyle asked, “I come to all of your games in the main season. But I never knew about this stuff.”

“Well, usually they’re a few weeks earlier,” Stan explained, “Around the same week you’re studying for valedictorian. So, like, you wouldn’t make it. So I never bothered asking.”

“Oh,” Kyle was silent only for a second, “Can I come to this one?”

Clyde grinned, “Does that mean you’re coming, Stan?”

“Geez, guys, I don’t know,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “Do you think I should?”

“Do you want my honest opinion?” Kyle asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t want anything else.”

“I think you should. You’re usually happier during game season, and we’ve proven that exercise helps you clear your mind. Plus, it would probably be really good for you to get together with your teammates again.”

“And for a little cherry on top, it’s for a good cause!” Clyde said as he pulled his car into the school parking lot.

“But it is your choice, Stan. It’s whatever you feel like doing.”

Stan sighed, “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

“Bet,” Clyde parked the car near the front and turned off the engine, “Just know the guys and I are thinking about you, and we hope to see you there Thursday night. But if you’re not, it’s cool, we get it.”

“Alright,” Stan stuck out his hand, “Thanks for the ride, man.”

Clyde shook it back, “Any time, brother. I have to bounce, I’m late for a club meeting.”   
He tossed a ring of car keys to the boy in the passenger seat, “So sorry, but I gotta go, dude. I’ll get back to you later. Just do me a favor and lock up the car when you’re done.”

“Sure thing.”

“Alright, bet. See you later, Stan,” he smiled, and then gave a wave to Kyle, “And nice seeing you still alive, too, dude. Come to school more. We miss seeing your pretty red hair!”

And with that, Clyde made his exit, leaving the two of them alone together in the car.

Stan’s eyes flicked up to Kyle in the rearview mirror when he asked, “This is your last chance to back out, Kyle. We can go home right now if you want.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Stan couldn’t help but notice the similarities of this conversation to the one they had before Bebe’s party, when Stan offered Kyle a bail-out before they went in.

Kyle must have noticed the similarities, too, because he went pale almost instantly. He searched around the backseat of Clyde’s car until he found a varsity sweatshirt, and he pulled it over his head. It was monstrously large on him and it made him look even smaller than he already was, but nonetheless he put it on.

In an extra precaution, Kyle pulled his green hat down a little further to cover his red hair.

Then he met Stan’s gaze in the rearview mirror and said, “No. I want to go to school.”

Stan sighed, “I was worried you would say that.”

“Stan?”

“No, it’s okay,” Stan grumbled, unlocking his seatbelt, “You’re right. Let’s go.”

* * *

The morning was relatively calm. Key-word: relatively.

The halls carried a sort of uneasy atmosphere, not just for Stan, but for all of the students, it seemed. Everyone at school had been at Bebe’s party, and nearly everyone was in attendance for the excursion near the end. It was no understatement that that fight was not a normal one, and it left an eerie lingering impression on the students as they struggled to make it through the Monday morning.

When people passed Stan and Kyle in the halls, they either stared or ran away. That was just something that Stan had to accept.

Just like Kyle had said before, all of this would pass. Eventually.

But the morning was calm in the sense that no brawls broke out, no gossip emerged, and no trouble arose. Believe it or not, even Eric Cartman wasn’t a total pain in the ass. He was as crude as ever, but he somehow kept his insults comparatively less degrading as he normally did; which thankfully put Kyle at ease after a while. Even the teachers were lenient and the classes were easy. Stan sat through all of his morning classes without getting stressed over the material, which was incredibly surprising in a magnificent way.

The morning was also calm because a certain blue-eyed blonde boy in an orange parka kept his distance.

Kenny McCormick had been standing right at the school gates the second the school opened.   
He had  _ never _ been one to be early before. He was always the fashionably late one. Kenny once actually showed up in class with less than one minute until the end of the school day; he didn’t even decide to take the day off; he just showed up with thirty seconds on the clock, apologizing for oversleeping, sitting for twenty seconds, and then going home at the dismissal bell.   
But he was early today. His intent was clear.

Kenny kept a respectful distance, though-- which Stan had to admit he greatly appreciated. Even though Kenny’s concern was overbearing, he was in no way posing a threat. He stayed out of the picture when it was clear he wasn’t wanted and he kept his head low every time Stan looked at him.

Kenny didn’t take his eyes off of them at all. He may have managed to keep a distance, but he didn’t look away once. He didn’t even blink. He just watched them with those overbearing blue eyes, looking after Kyle with sincerity and dread, while he stared Stan down with hateful glares.

But at least he stayed away. Stan had to appreciate that.

Ike was also surprisingly not present. Stan had thought that Ike would be the one waiting for them at the school gate, not Kenny. Maybe it was just because Stan was in lower-level classes than him, but for whatever reason it was, Stan didn’t see Ike at all this morning. And he loved it.

Though Stan knew it was too good to be true to believe it would stay that way for long.

Ike Broflovski finally made his appearance during Stan and Kyle’s study hall.

Kyle had been engrossed in some sort of computing assignment while Stan watched him work in fascination. In his mind, Kyle looked like a hacker in one of those movies. All he needed was a headset. They were both so enthralled by what they were doing--Kyle computing and Stan watching Kyle computing- that they didn’t realize Ike had entered the library until he was right in front of them.

The moment Ike came into the picture, Stan bristled, though kept his mouth shut for Kyle’s sake.

Ike didn’t even flinch. Without asking permission, he put his satchel down on their work desk and started filing through it.

Kyle pushed his computer aside, “Hey, Ike. Is everything okay?”

Ike responded by taking out a small tube from his satchel and holding out his hand expectantly.

Kyle was hesitant.

“Wrists,” Ike commanded, motioning with his hand.

Reluctantly but surely, Kyle pulled back the mountainous heaps of the varsity sweater’s sleeves so Ike could rub some Neosporin on his marred wrists. It was obvious from the strain in Kyle’s face that it hurt for Ike to touch them, but he went on rubbing the ointment despite that.

“Cut it out,” Stan snapped, “You’re hurting him.”

“I’m helping him,” he corrected, “Maybe you should give it a try sometime.”

Stan growled.

“I have to say, Marsh, I’m surprised you actually allowed him to come to school today. I knew you would show eventually, but I didn’t think you would come so soon.”

“I’m gonna pummel you.”

Kyle promptly changed the subject, “How are Mom and Dad? Are they scared? I should’ve left a note.”

“Yes, you should have,” Ike took a seat at the table, all the while still smearing the medicine on Kyle’s wrists, “They’re more infuriated than they are scared. It’s not like you to run off, Kyle.”

“I couldn’t help it. I got really mad. I don’t know, I was just really upset. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

“Why didn’t you just take your anger-management meds?”

“I don’t know, I just- I didn’t want to.”

“Was it because Marsh drilled into your head that he doesn’t want you to take medicine, and so you obediently followed his command without a second thought?”

“No, Ike. I just didn’t want to be knocked out, God. I wasn’t really thinking clearly. I was upset and I didn’t want to be knocked out.”

“Hm,” Ike noted. He turned Kyle’s wrists over in his hands, “And what time did Marsh kidnap you from your bedroom and stash you away at his house?”

Kyle stared in disbelief, “Ike.”

“I’m only asking the time, so that I can get the timeline in my head properly ordered.”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Stan spat.

Ike paid him no heed. He was looking at Kyle, his lips drawn into a thin, white line. Ike gave him a condescending look, scrutinizing his face, before saying, “You look gaunt.”

“Gee, thanks. So glad you outclassed me in both academics and in the looks department,” Kyle huffed, pulling his wrists away.

Stan couldn’t help but be amazingly proud. Kyle had been hiding in his shell for weeks now, and he seemed to actually be coming out. Defiance was kindling in his fiery green eyes, and it warmed Stan’s soul.

He smiled to himself. It went unnoticed by both Broflovskis.

Ike pulled his wrists back, “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I only meant to address the fact that you’re practically emaciated.”   
To prove his point, he wrapped his hand around one of Kyle’s wrists, demonstrating that Ike’s thumb could reach every one of his fingers with a gap still present around the thin wrist.   
With that black-hole quality sinking into his dark eyes, Ike asked, “So has Marsh been starving you? It’s only been a few days and you’re already more skeletal than when I last saw you.”

“Shut up, damn it,” Kyle tugged his wrists back. He pulled the long sleeves of the sweatshirt down to cover them up, “And don’t pick on Stan.”

Ike snorted.

“I mean it, don’t pick on Stan,” Kyle defied, “He’s been great. And he didn’t kidnap me. I went to his house on my own and he’s been looking after me.”

Ike rolled his eyes, “Sure. You, an underweight, injured, ill convalescent walked five whole blocks in the Colorado winter to meet your deleterious vampire boyfriend when it was still dark outside.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“People don’t lie to you, Ike,” Kyle sighed, pulling the sweater sleeves down further, “It’s sort of an unspoken rule in this town.”

Stan cut in to defend him now, “He’s telling the truth. He came to me, and I’ve been looking after him. I think he’s doing better and better each day, and to be honest, so am I.”

“Hm.”

“And for the record,” Stan went on, “He’s going to be staying with me for a long time. A long, long time. I know everything that’s going on under your roof now, and unlike you, I actually have a heart and I’m not going to let him go back to that ever again.”

“By keeping him to yourself? That hardly seems just.”

“I’m  _ protecting _ him.”

“You’re  _ indoctrinating _ him. Look at him, he’s  _ paltry.” _

“Right, right,” Kyle snapped, “Let’s just all talk about him like he’s not even here. Let’s fucking demean him even more than we already have.”

At the sound of Kyle’s voice, Kenny finally decided to make his appearance.   
It was difficult to determine if he had been watching the whole conversation from a distance or if he was just now showing up. He approached the table with his arms raised, saying, “Woah woah woah. What’s going on? What’d I miss?”

Stan groaned, “Of course you show up now.”

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Ike rolled his eyes, “Marsh, call off your dog. Everything is fine. We’re only talking.”

“Shut up, Ike.”

“Guys, we’re in a library.”

“McCormick, come take a look at my brother. Doesn’t it look like Marsh is starving him?”

“I mean, a little bit. Stan, is this true?”

“No!”

“If starving him to death is your intent, just know I’ll force-feed him before I let that happen, Marsh.”

“I haven’t done a thing to him!”

“That’s a funny joke, you know that?”

Kyle pulled the hood of Clyde’s varsity sweater over his face, “Goddamn it, why does nobody ever listen to me?”

Stan drew back in an instant, “Sorry, Kyle, I didn’t realize you were speaking. I’m listening now. Do you want to run that by me again?”

“Stan, no,” Kyle sighed annoyedly, frustration everywhere in the creases of his face, “You’re not the problem here. You’re fine. It’s just that my brother and my other friend here are just walking up and assuming things without even letting me get a single word out.”

“There wouldn’t be a point, Kyle,” Ike said, his tone mysteriously calming, “You’ve already been proselytized-”

“-English, please,” Kenny cut in.

Ike gawked, “I’m speaking English, halfwit. I mean to say that my brother’s been brainwashed already. Everything he has to say is in Marsh’s defense. There’s no point to letting him speak, because he wouldn’t even speak for himself, he’d speak for Marsh.”

Stan winced at his tone, and even Kenny had to take a step back. There was this horrible, piercing truth to Ike’s words, they all knew it, but it was still a major blow to have him say it out loud. Some things are better left unsaid, and this was one of them. 

“Ike, you’re being a dick,” Kyle clenched his jaw.

“I’m being reasonable.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not being a dick.”

Ike sighed, “Kyle, there’s no point to repeating the same argument twice. It doesn’t make it any more valid. If you were in the right mindset, you would be aware of that.”

Kyle just wrapped the sweater sleeves around himself, “Dick.”

Ike took a sharp inhale, “Kyle. That’s not-”

“-Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick-”

“-How am I being a dick, may I ask?” Ike kept himself under control despite his visible anger.

“‘cause you’re just assuming. You’re not letting me speak. And when I do speak, you’re not even listening,” Kyle glowered, “You’re just as bad as Stan used to be.”

That line finally reeled in Kenny and Ike to the point where they went silent, both of them staring with unsurpassed interest. Kenny pulled up a chair and joined them at the study desk.

Ike took out a notebook now, one with a sleek, black cover that reminded Stan of his lavish bedroom. He poised a pen in his hand, ready to write, before he asked, “What do you mean ‘used to be?’”

Stan gave Kyle a little nudge of encouragement, offering a smile for comfort.

Kyle offered a tenuous smile back before saying, “Stan’s been great, Ike. I know you don’t believe me. And I know Kenny doesn’t believe me. But if you don’t take the time to consider that what I’m saying might be true, you’re just as bad as he was. He’s doing great now, and I stand by that, and I went to his house on my own free will.”

Ike wrote down some notes, not even bothering to look Stan’s way anymore.

Kenny ran his hands through his hair nervously before saying, “Okay Kylie-B, I can believe that you went to his house on your own, and I can believe that you think he’s doing a lot better. But you’re still endangering yourself by staying with him, you know?”

“I’m really not.”

Ike cut in, “You really are.”

Stan butt in, “He’s really not.”

“Ike. Stan. Ken,” Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m fine. Stan has been good to me.”

Ike started reading from a list written in his notebook, “You’re diabetic. You probably still have DKA, which you need to get treated for as soon as physically possible. By staying with him, you’re denying yourself that privilege.”

“I don’t have DKA anymore,” Kyle said with a certainty that made Stan smile.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Stan has been good about monitoring my glucose. He works needles and readers like a pro. I’ve been in the healthy range for days now,” Kyle droned on, “Now can we please stop talking about my goddamn diabetes? That’s Scott Malkinson’s personality trait, not mine.”

_ “Hey!” _ Scott shouted from the other side of the library, only to be shushed by the librarian only a second later.

Stan laughed.

No one else at his table did. Not even Kenny, which was saying something.

“Even outside of your DKA,” Ike went back to his list, “Your ankle is broken, your wrists are cut, and you’re covered in bruises all the time. Marsh is responsible, we all know this. How can you justify staying with him under these circumstances?”

“And his back,” Kenny cut in, biting his cheek.

“Kenny, no-”

“-What do you mean, ‘his back?’”

“It was the most god-awful sight I’d ever seen with my own two eyes,” Kenny’s blue eyes darted in between the three of them nervously, “I came by Stan’s house yesterday to check on them, and I found them in the bathroom with Kyle’s shirt off and I saw his back. It was- Just awful. God, it was awful. I don’t even know  _ what _ Stan did, but it looked really, really bad.”

“That’s because Stan didn’t do it,” Kyle said, “That was from the bus accident.”

Kenny looked like he had been slapped across the face, “...oh.”

Kyle and Stan gave each other slight smiles, before Kyle went on, “It’s okay, Kenny. Thanks for your concern. But Stan had nothing to do with it and he doesn’t deserve that kind of accusation.”

“But- Uh… Really? Are you sure?”

Ike flipped his notebook shut, “Yes, he’s right. I’ve seen it. This one we can’t blame on Marsh, it was all the bus’s fault.”

Something churned in Stan’s gut.   
He felt his palms go clammy when he asked, “What do you mean you’ve seen it?”

Stan’s question went unnoticed by the other three.

Kenny was still flabbergasted, while Ike and Kyle were engaged in some kind of poker face battle.

“He’s excused from your back, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting Marsh off the hook, Kyle, we both know he’s guilty of more. For instance, how do you explain what happened to your wrists?”

Kyle’s foot started tapping underneath the table, “Nothing.”

“What happened there is not ‘nothing,’ Kylie-B,” Kenny said gingerly, “The sight of ‘em alone just about gave me a heart attack. Tell your brother what you told me when I asked you that same thing.”

“What?” Ike’s eyes narrowed, “What did you tell him, Kyle?”

The redhead looked to Stan for support.

“Don’t look at him, look at me. What did you tell him, Kyle?”

Stan put a fist on the table, “He told Kenny the truth. That’s what he told him.”

“Go take a walk, Marsh. Isn’t that what athletes are supposed to do when they get capsized?”

“He told Kenny the truth! And I’m gonna stick up for my super best friend. Why do you have a problem with that?”

“Don’t answer for him,” Ike then turned back to his brother, “Kyle. What happened to your wrists, and what did you tell McCormick?”

Kyle tugged on Stan’s shirtsleeve, “Stan, could you-”

“-Don’t let him answer for you. I’m only going to say that one more time,” Ike was more stern now, “Kyle, explain this instant.”

Even though Clyde’s oversized sweater sleeves were already hanging several inches off his arms, Kyle pulled them down even further in anticipation.

“Kyle.”

“I did it. That’s what I told Kenny, and that’s the truth. What happened to my wrists is all my fault and I accept responsibility for that.”

Stan gave his shoulder a squeeze to comfort him. Kenny noticed the gesture, and rewarded Stan with a nasty glare, but the quarterback didn’t let it bother him. He would bolster Kyle up until the end of the world if he had to.

Ike was eerily impassive, “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes,” Kyle was incredulous.

“You expect me to believe that you cut your own wrists?”

“Well, it wasn’t like that. But sort of, I mean-”

“-You expect me to believe that you’re  _ suicidal?” _ Ike demanded, his voice thundering through the library.

All eyes from across the whole room riveted to their table, a few mouths dropping open, as everyone stared in horrible stupor. The murmurs started almost instantly, but still kept to an eerily quiet level. Not even the librarian dared to speak up; she looked nauseated to the point that she was green in the face.

Ike and Kyle were staring each other down from across the table, their stares impenetrable. Ike was apathetic in every sense of the word, his dark, ominous eyes languid and grim. The way he looked at his brother made Stan want to throat-punch him; it was like he was debasing him by his eyes alone.

But despite the steely pressure, Kyle managed to hold his ground.   
That was until Kyle’s green irises flicked to the side, noticing a certain dark-haired girl with a yellow headband from across the library.

Stan watched a lump rise in Kyle’s throat. He almost choked on it.

“Leslie,” he called, shooting up from his chair.

Leslie had a hand over her mouth as she shook her head.

“Leslie, it’s not true! Hold on!”

The girl just kept shaking her head, whimpering now. She let out a soft cry from behind her fingers, and then dashed out the library doors. They went  _ clang _ as they closed, before the library was surrounded by an uncomfortable silence yet again.

Kyle looked dead on his feet. His arms hung limp at his sides, his stare lost and empty. Engulfed in the oversized sweater, he looked feeble and diminutive, too.

Stan felt something eat at his heart as he tried to comfort him, “Hey, Kyle. Come sit back down. It’s okay.”

“There goes whatever chance I had at being her friend again,” Kyle said, not even blinking.

“Kylie-B, it’s okay. Girls are just sensitive to this kind of thing. She’ll be fine,” Kenny tried to smile.

“Your friends are right,” Ike nodded, “It’s not your fault. Sit back down and we’ll discuss as we were.”

As he stood there, Kyle raised his hands to his forehead, “I’m not-... I’m not suicidal...”

“There we go. See? I knew I would get the truth out of you. You’re not suicidal, which means you didn’t cut your wrists, which means Marsh did. End of story. That wasn’t so bad. Now, was it Kyle?”

The redhead just went on staring at the door, his forehead clamped between his hands.

“Kyle,” Stan lightly tugged on his long sweater sleeve, “Come sit back down. It’s okay. Leslie’ll get over it.”

Still, he was despondent.

“Oh come on, Kyle,” Stan urged, “Why do you care so much about what she thinks?”

“Damn it, Stan, I don’t know,” Kyle sniffed, “Maybe because I wanted to believe I could socialize with anybody outside of the three of you? Maybe because I wanted just a pinch of normalcy in my life? Maybe because I actually thought things would be okay again?”

“Okay okay okay, hold your horses,” Kenny said sweetly. He approached Kyle and fondly sat him back down in the chair, “Sounds like we kinda wound you up tight, Kyle, huh? Sorry about that, dude. Do you- Do you wanna, like, talk? Or something?”

“Not with the three of you,” Kyle shook his head, “I love you guys, really I do, but you’re pushing me to my limits. And I fucking grew up with Eric Cartman on my heels my entire life, so you know my limits are pretty high up there.”

“Kyle, I’m sorry. Really, I-”

“-It’s just when the three of you get together you turn it into a blame game. You’re all always blaming each other for things that have to do with my life, and my life only, and you use it to belittle each other! Why? I don’t get it. I really don’t.”

Ike pointed a pen at him from across the table, “I intervene because I care. I predict McCormick does it for the same reason, but you know very well Marsh does it for his own benefit. He’s selfish, manipulative, and he wants you for his own, as if you’re an object to be sold.”

Kyle swallowed, “That is  _ not _ a fair comparison.”

“You don’t even know what I’m comparing him to.”

“Yes, I do. I’m not stupid. You may think I am, but I’m not.”

Ike sighed as if he were bored, running a hand over his face, “I never said you were stupid, Kyle.”

“You don’t need to say it! It’s written all over your face!” Kyle cried, “And Stan doesn’t objectify me!”

In a quick, darted move, Kenny stepped in between the two raising his arms defensively, “Okie dokie! There we go. That’s enough now. Why don’t we all just take a deep breath and try to be nice?”

“Nice, huh?” Stan asked, crossing his arms, “So you’re actually going to be nice to me now, Kenny?”

“No, not to  _ you,  _ dude. I’m talking about them.”

“But I’ve  _ tried _ to be nice!” Kyle cried out above them, a desperate quality to his tone that could shatter someone’s heart.

Stan softened, “Kyle?”

“I’ve tried.”

Stan softened even more, “Kyle…?”

“I’ve tried,” Kyle said shakily. The fire in his eyes was finally ablaze, but despite that he was shaking like a leaf, “I’ve tried so fucking hard to be nice! To all of you! You guys dis me because you say I’m ‘not myself’ anymore, and that I ‘don’t stand up for myself,’ but I can’t stand up for myself when you guys are breathing down my neck all the time! I can’t speak my mind without offending one of you! Every time I try, you just get upset and tell me I’m delusional or I’m confused. So of course, I stop standing up for myself eventually. But can you blame me for that? It gets pretty sick and tiring being told you’ve been brainwashed again and again and again.”

Ike took another sharp inhale, “Kyle. You misunderstand what-”

“-Especially you, Ike, I’ve  _ especially _ tried to be nice to you!” Kyle cried. He was now vibrating so much that Stan feared he would overexert himself and collapse, but Kyle pushed on anyway, “Do you even  _ know _ how hard it is to try to congratulate you for valedictorian, when you know how hard I worked for it?!”

Ike stiffened, “No, I don’t. And I apologize that you were punished because of my achievement. But honestly, Kyle, I don’t think that’s the real issue right now. I think there are much more essential matters on the table that need to be addressed.”

“Like what, Ike? What could  _ possibly _ be more essential than the fact you stole my dream away from me?”

“Why, your best friend’s unyielding infatuation with you. He’s obsessed with you, and he’s going to hurt you.”

Stan stood up from the table, preparing his fists, “That’s it.”

Kenny got ready on defense, “Stan, no.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Stan, no!”

_ “This right here!” _ Kyle shrieked, nailing the palms of his hands into his forehead with so much force it looked like he was hurting himself,  _ “This  _ is what you do! You blame Stan for stuff he hasn’t even done and you talk about him like he’s some kind of sociopath!”

Ike was astonished,  _ “He _ was the one who just said he was going to kill me!”

“He cares!”

“Not about you!”

“He cares more about me than you do!” Kyle whimpered, dropping his hands from his face weakly.

For a second, it looked like Ike was actually remorseful.   
But a second later, Stan blinked, and Ike was stoic again. He stood from the desk, “Kyle.”

But the redhead was done debating, Stan could see that from a mile away. His knees were shaking and his breathing was uneven, his face red from all the yelling. Kyle threw a weak, halfhearted gesture Stan’s way, “Stan, let’s go… ‘m done. Don’t want to be here anymore...”

“But you never cut class.”

“I am today.”

“Sure,” Stan said, “Sure. Okay. Sounds good to me.”

“Here,” Kenny took out the keys to his truck, “I’ll drive you.”

“No,” Stan said, remembering that he still had Clyde’s car keys in his pocket, “No, it’s okay. We have a ride.”

He made for the library door, keeping his pace slow for Kyle’s sake. With the boot weighing him down and his wobbly knees, Kyle moved as if he were walking on thin ice.

The librarian didn’t stop them, and neither did any of the other administrators down the corridor. Despite the obvious concern from the people around them, not one person tried to hold them back from walking past the school gate and out to the parking lot.

As soon as they were safe and secure inside Clyde’s car, Kyle was the first to speak.

“I don’t want to go to school anymore.”

“Okay.”

He fidgeted with the sweater sleeves nervously, “It’s that easy? I can just say I don’t want to go, and that’s that?”

“Sure. Why not?” Stan shrugged before asking, “Do you think Ike and Kenny are gonna come after us?”

“Ike won’t cut class,” Kyle buckled his seatbelt, “Kenny might. But I think we scared him pretty good, so he might lay off for a while.”

“That’s good.”

“I guess,” Kyle frowned as he looked at his reflection in the side mirror, “I think Ike’s planning something.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know. He just seemed kinda undisturbed about that whole conversation.”

“Oh, you noticed that, too.”

“Yeah. He’s definitely planning something. We should stay home for a few days.”

“Good idea, Kyle.”

“Thanks.”

Stan was adjusting the mirrors and seats in Clyde’s car when all of a sudden, he had to stop. An irking suspicion pricked at the back of his mind and entered his thoughts. Just thinking about it made him want to gag, but somehow he still mustered up the confidence to ask about it.

“Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“Does Ike know?”

“Know about-” Kyle’s eyes were wide, “-the pictures?”

“Yeah,” Stan’s mouth went dry, “Does he?”

“No,” Kyle said, lost in a memory, “No, I don’t think so.”

Stan turned to look at him, resting his arm on the dashboard, “And you’re sure?”

“I mean, I’m not  _ sure  _ sure,” Kyle looked away, “But I’m pretty sure. He’s never brought it up once. He treats my dad the same way he always has. After they started happening, nothing’s changed for him. So I have to assume that he doesn’t know. He would do something if he knew.”

“When did they start happening?” Stan bit his lip, “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Don’t feel like I’m forcing you.”

“Well, first let me reiterate that they’re not regular things. They don’t happen that often.”

“...But still.”

“But still,” Kyle started playing with the sleeves of the sweater, “The- um… The first one was the night of my bar mitzvah. ‘cause, you know, that day was the day I wasn’t a kid anymore, you know? I was officially a man.”

“Oh God, Kyle,” Stan tried to swallow a lump in his throat, “That was your thirteenth birthday.”

“Yeah,” Kyle ducked his head low.

“I was-... I was  _ there _ that day…”

“It was after everyone left, a-and my mom and Ike went to bed.”

“Jesus Christ, Kyle, it was your bar mitzvah… That was supposed to be the most important day of your young life.”

Kyle laughed.

Stan wiped at his eyes, “What’s so funny?”

“You can’t use ‘Jesus Christ’ and ‘bar mitzvah’ in the same sentence,” Kyle said before he erupted into more giggles, covering his mouth with the long sleeves.

Despite the overwhelming guilt and disgust broiling in the pit of Stan’s stomach, he somehow found himself laughing along to the point where he was winded by the mirth.

Stan composed himself at the wheel, “Okay. That was-... Okay. I needed that. God, I needed that.”

“Me too.”

“Okay. Ready to go, Kyle?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Kyle was still giggling, his cheeks tickled pink, the freckles on his nose adorable.

“Homeward bound, my friend.”

“Homeward bound.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give a slight note beforehand in apology. As I was editing, I realized that this chapter and the past few chapters may seem way too repetitive. If that's the case, I apologize for your reader's experience so far ;-; I promise the next chapter will be a major shift in scenery and scenario.  
> On another note, I believe after this chapter, we may be in the final stretch of story! Though I'm certain there will be a few bumps and curves still thrown our way haha.
> 
> Thank you for your time! Honestly, if you're still sticking with this story, you're (as Kenny says) an angel among men! Thank you so much for your support and your perseverance!
> 
> Anyway, warnings for this chapter: Underage drinking

Kyle was talking to himself for what was perhaps the eighth time that night.

Stan wasn’t sure if Kyle was even aware he was doing it. He was asleep--at least, he seemed to be.

The past few days have proved that Kyle’s sleep schedule was just as obstructed and disordered as everything else in his life. There were some times he didn’t sleep for days, and other times he slept for twenty hours straight. It was difficult for Stan to attend to him when he could hardly keep track of his energy levels. Stan wasn’t angry with Kyle for it, of course, because he knew it wasn’t his fault.

But Stan was still angry. With each passing day, his resentment towards Kyle’s younger brother grew. He never should have given Kyle those pills; his sleep habits were rampant now, and they weren’t improving. Kyle must have grown dependent on them or something, because he was showing worrisome symptoms of withdrawal.

Right now, Stan and Kyle were pressed up together on Stan’s mattress, and Kyle was muttering in his sleep.

At least, Stan was pretty sure he was sleeping. To be honest, it was hard to tell.

They were both awake just a few moments ago, watching a basketball game from Stan’s phone, when Stan finally noticed that Kyle wasn’t commenting on the game anymore. When he looked over to check on him, he found that Kyle had seemingly dozed off, lying back against his pillow. His eyes were closed and his breathing was gentle and even, so Stan had to assume that he had fallen asleep.

The only thing that made Stan question if he was really sleeping or not was the fact that Kyle was talking to himself.

He was only muttering, really. He mumbled incoherently, most of his words malformed and breathy as he pressed his face into the pillow. But just these little actions were enough to kindle suspicion.

To be fair, Stan knew that sleep-talking was a natural thing and a lot of people did it. But he had known Kyle his entire life, and he couldn’t recall a single time in their childhood when Kyle talked in his sleep.

That’s the reason why Stan decided to stick around while Kyle slept. Normally, he would allow him some privacy and go into another room, but something about his mumbling made Stan feel like he should be here at his side. He didn’t know what he was afraid of, maybe the idea of Kyle having a night tremor or something, but for whatever reason it may be, Stan decided to remain by Kyle’s side as he slept.

He tried a few times to understand what Kyle was saying, but could never really grasp more than three words at a time. So after a few hours, Stan just stopped trying to pay attention. He just went on leaning up against him on the bed, gently drifting off into sleep himself.

Stan nearly dozed off, until a sharp tug against the mattress woke him up. Kyle sat straight up on the bed, his back stiff as a board.

Stan popped his eyes open, “Hey, Kyle. Did you just wake up?”

Kyle didn’t respond at first, apparently still in a state of lethargy after just waking. So Stan sat up on the bed with him, stifling a yawn.

“You must’ve been having some crazy dreams,” Stan whispered.

“What?” Kyle rubbed his eyes sleepily.

“You were sorta talking in your sleep,” Stan explained, stretching a little, “I don’t remember you ever doing that before. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

“No,” Kyle mumbled hoarsely, “Jus’ realized something.”

“You ‘realized something?’ While you were sleeping or just now?”

“What?”

“What’d you realize? Something serious?”

“No. Jus’ something interesting,” Kyle rubbed his eyes again, “I realized that we’re sorta paradoxes of each other, dude. Like, you have a great body but a fucked up head, ‘n I have an okay head but a fucked up body.”

“...Kyle.”

Kyle lied back down pulling the covers over his head.

“Kyle, we’re both going to get better. You know that. We’re working so hard. We’re bound to get better,” Stan said as encouragingly as he could.  
He pulled back the cover from Kyle’s face to discover that he had fallen asleep again. This time, it was a deep sleep. He wasn’t tossing, turning, or murmuring at all. He slept with his mouth open, his breathing soft and rhythmical.

Stan didn’t know if it was impressive or disturbing that Kyle fell asleep so quickly after that bizarre statement. Either way, he didn’t feel any more comfortable letting him rest on his own. So Stan tucked in tighter, pulling the covers over both of them.

It was hard to say how much time passed before Stan’s resting was interrupted yet again.

He heard his phone vibrate from the nightstand, the screen casting a blue glow throughout the room. He ignored it at first, but when it buzzed a second time, he accepted he had better check it; Stan already missed out on way too many messages anyway.

He made sure Kyle was still sleeping before rolling out of bed. He moved to the hallway outside his bedroom to see that he had received texts from Butters, of all the people in the world.

Butters never texted him. They never really spent time together after their middle school years. The only regular interaction they had was at football games, where Butters was the team’s water-boy.

Stan pulled a face. This was surprising. He would have thought Kenny or Ike messaged him. Or take it a step further, Stan had actually anticipated that Kenny or Ike would blast his phone with texts and calls twenty four hours on the clock. But there was no word from either of them.

Stan could have slapped himself when he remembered that he still had their numbers blocked.

It might have been a good thing, though. He would much rather talk with Butters than have to deal with their pressures and accusations.

He opened up the texts from Butters:  
**Hiya Stan!!!! Long time no see, right?**

**Just wanted to let you know that Kenny is on his way over to your house. He told me to let you know so it doesn’t come as a surprise & you don’t “get upset.” his words, not mine.**

**By the way am I still water-boy for thursday’s game???**

Stan sucked in a deep breath after reading Butters’ texts.

He hated to admit it, but Kenny made a really good call to send word ahead. Thanks to the forewarning, Stan could collect his thoughts and get a few things out of his system before Kenny visited.

Unless it wasn’t a visit. It could very well be an intervention, or even something else. Stan had no idea what to expect.

Nonetheless he couldn’t deny the fact that Kenny was on his way over right at this moment. This wasn’t something he could just brush aside. So with fidgeting fingers, he texted back an “ok,” before bounding down the stairs to the first floor.

He found himself in a sort of pitifully funny situation. Stan was debating if he should bring out some weed or drinks, as if they were having a simple get-together. They might be for all he knows. But something told him that Kenny wasn’t just here to socialize.

When Stan got downstairs, he went to the closet and assembled his plastic basketball hoop over the closet door. Scoring a few hoops might help him focus in a way that was easily more natural than boxing or going on a two-hour run.

He played by himself for a while until he heard the doorbell ring.

He set the little rubber basketball to the side and went to answer the front door. But before he could turn the knob, he cast a look upstairs toward his bedroom, where Kyle was still sleeping soundly.

The thought occurred that maybe Kyle would benefit from seeing Kenny.  
But Stan dismissed the thought as soon as it arose; Kyle needed his sleep more than anything.

So taking a deep breath, Stan pulled open the front door. Kenny McCormick was standing there, the light of the dusky sky enhancing the orange of his parka and the golden wisps of his blonde hair. He stood poised, but at the same time maintained that disheveled carry that was integral to his character. It was difficult to read his expression; Kenny was not entirely cold-fish, but he wasn’t his natural rambunctious self either. He seemed to be somewhere in the middle: he was open, but he was also guarded.

Stan opened his mouth to greet him, but Kenny beat him to speaking first.

“Please don’t hit me.”

“I’m not gonna hit you.”

Kenny let out a sigh of relief. He opened his mouth to say something else, but this time, it was Stan who beat him to it.

“Before you start accusing me of something,” Stan began, “Kyle’s here. He’s just sleeping. He’s fine, I haven’t laid a finger on him. He’s upstairs in my bedroom, tucked in, safe and sound. And if you don’t believe me, you can run up to my room and see.”

“Dude, I was just gonna say that the lock on your doorknob is broken.”

“Oh.”

Kenny peeked over his shoulders to the interior of the house, “Is it cool if I come in?”

Stan winced, “Is this an intervention?”

“Nah, man, I just wanted to stop by and check in,” Kenny said. There was an unmasked sincerity to his tone that Stan couldn’t deny even if he tried. He had to accept that Kenny was not here as a threat.

That was a major load off his chest.

“Sure, come on in,” Stan stepped aside, holding the door open as Kenny walked in.

He pulled back the hood of his parka and plopped down on the sofa of the living room, as if they were still best friends and this was just a regular Friday night. To him, maybe it was. His conventional attitude helped put Stan at ease.

So Stan went to the refrigerator, calling over his shoulder, “Can I get you a drink?”

“I thought your dad was all strict about no alcohol, or whatever.”

Stan felt a flash of guilt, “Oh. Um. About that.”

Kenny raised his head from the couch.

“My dad’s not sober anymore.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. People relapse. It’s normal,” Stan said, burying his guilt under meaningless words. He pulled a few beers out of the fridge and took them back to the living room, passing one off to Kenny, “So, isn’t it a little late for you to come over?”

“Not really, dude,” Kenny opened his bottle and started to fiddle with the cap, “It’s like eight at night.”

“Is it? I’ve lost complete track of time. We’re not on normal schedules here,” Stan said. It didn’t occur until after the words left his mouth that he was probably sounding like a terrible caretaker.

But Kenny’s soft eyes were non-judgemental, “It’s fine, dude. I get it. As long as you’re both doing okay,” he took a sip from his beer before saying, “Besides, as soon as miss mayor finally mandates quarantine ‘cause of the virus, we’re all going to lose track o’ time anyway.”

“Dude, you know she’s not going to do anything. Even if she did, the people here won’t cooperate. Social distancing is not going to stand in this town.”

“Damn. When you’re right, you’re right.”

Stan took a sip from his own beer, relishing at the way it bit at the back of his throat. It had been way too long since he had one of these.

He cleared his throat a little before admitting, “Say, now that I think about it, I don’t even know what day it is.”

“It’s Wednesday. I wanted to come by Monday and Tuesday night but my stupid foster parents raked me into fuckin’ community service and I couldn’t get out of it,” Kenny ruffled his moppy blonde hair, “And believe me, I tried. But you know how they are about public appearances and shit. I couldn’t get out of it until tonight.”

“It’s okay, we’re holding up,” Stan said.

For a second, he wondered if he should tell him what Kyle said a few minutes ago in his room. The strange statement he made about being a paradox was something so bizarre, random, and unsettling that just the thought of it made goosebumps jump up on Stan’s arms.

But he thought better of it. He figured that the things Kyle said could have been the result of a fevered dream or something like that. And even if he was sincere about what he said, it wouldn’t be right for Stan to just pass it along to Kenny without Kyle’s permission. It could have been a secret for all he knew.

Kenny cleared his throat, “So, like… I wanted to apologize.”

Stan blinked.

“For, uh, for not being fair,” he was playing with his bottle cap as he spoke, turning it over between his long fingers, “What the Kylie-B said in the libary was right. I was, like- Geez, I’m not good at this… I was calling you out and accusing you of things when I probably shouldn’t’ve been.”

Stan didn’t point out that Kenny said “libary” instead of “library.” It was a childish habit of his that Stan dismissed years ago.

But to be honest, Stan didn’t even notice it. He was primarily affected by the friendly candor in Kenny’s apology. Stan didn’t know what he was expecting when Kenny showed up at his front door, but he certainly hadn’t expected this kind of genuine vulnerability.

And Kenny wasn’t even done. He still had more to say.

“And, uh, I’m sorry I thought you did that shit to his back,” Kenny twisted the bottle cap more, “I shoulda realized that you didn’t. It was too bad for one human being to do to another. And I’m sorry about Sunday; when you said you were ‘punching things,’ I automatically assumed you meant you were punching Kyle. I shoulda been more respectful.”

Stan didn’t realize he had tears in his eyes until he felt one roll down his face, “Kenny.”

“Shoot!” Kenny laughed nervously, “Didn’t mean to start your waterworks. You okay?”

Stan wiped at his face, laughing at his own guilelessness, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! Not your fault! You’re fine, Kenny.”

“Oh, thank the Lord. I don’t need to be breaking any more hearts.”

There was an extended beat of silence before Kenny pressed forward, “So, like… Not to sound like an ass or anything, but it’s your turn to apologize.”

“Okay, um,” Stan took a sip from his beer, “Sorry things got weird between us.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow, as if that wasn’t the apology he had been expecting. Then he sighed and confessed, “Honestly, I’m sorry about that, too. We both want the same thing. We shouldn’t be petty about it.”

“I can’t even remember why I was mad at you.”

“I remember every reason why I’m mad at you,” Kenny sighed, ruffling his hair, “And to be honest, man, there are some things you’ve done I’ll probably never forget. Maybe even never forgive. But I hafta remember that you’re suffering here, too. Not just the Kylie-B. You’re going through just as much in the head, you know? I gotta be understanding with you.”

Stan frowned, “But I’m not suffering. I’m improving.”

Kenny wiped at his nose, “No, I know. I know. You are. There’s just so much going on, it’s hard to keep track of everything that’s happened. What I’m saying is I shouldn’t try to hold onto it all. There’s no reason to be petty.”

“It’s like, just when we think everything’s settled down, something blows everything out of proportion again.”

“You said it, bro. I really meant it that one time I said I should be keeping a diary of all this,” he took another swig of his drink, “I think Ike has a diary.”

“Hm,” Stan mocked, “Maybe we should read it ‘n find out his evil schemes.”

Kenny set his drink aside and the bottle cap with it. He balled his hands into fists when he said, “So you think he’s onto something, too.”

“Kyle and I both think it,” Stan said, “Kyle says he’s planning something.”

“He’s gotta be. Prolly something big. When he was at my place the other day, he was acting really weird. Kinda freaked me out. I feel like he knows something that we don’t know.”

Stan made a disgusted sound.

“I know, right?” Kenny pursed his lips, “He gives me the heebie-jeebies. I thought we were on the same side. Don’t get me wrong, I still think that he’s a good guy, I really do, but I still feel like he’s onto something.”

Before Stan could put in his two cents, he heard a _clang_ from the kitchen. In an instant, he shot straight up from the couch, calling, “Kyle? Is that you?”

Kyle was standing cautiously by the pantry, using one hand to rub his eyes sleepily. At Stan’s call, he gave a slight wave, “Hi… Yeah, it’s me.”

Kenny sprung up from the couch, “Kylie-B!”

“Oh, hi, Kenny. It’s so good to see you, dude. I didn’t know you were here-” Kyle’s excitement was cut short by a tremendous yawn, one that racked his entire feeble body. He actually had to hold onto the door frame to keep himself upright as he yawned. 

Stan watched Kenny go from energetic to depleted in less than a second.

“Didja just wake up from a nap, sleepyhead?” the blonde asked, feigning cheerfulness.

“Yeah. I got hungry.”

“Oh,” Stan’s heartbeat quickened, “I’m sorry, Kyle. You should have called for me. I would have brought you something,” he was already moving towards the kitchen, “Let’s get you something to eat. Anything you want. What would you like?”

“Broth.”

Stan felt his gut churn, “Kyle, you don’t want just broth. It won’t even make you feel less hungry. I’ve said, like, ten times already you need something more nutrient-dense.”

“No, thanks.”

“Kyle.”

“I don’ wanna puke.”

“Kyle, you won’t-”

“-I don’t want to puke!” Kyle barked with intensity. As soon as the words left his mouth, he placed a hand to his forehead and sighed, “Sorry, I just-... I don’t know. I’m tired. That’s no excuse, but-”

“-No, Kyle, it’s a fine excuse,” Stan said, but he didn’t really mean it. He knew he was lying, both to himself and Kyle, but he felt like it was needed, “You can take some broth upstairs, okay? Back in my room. You can drink it up there and then go right back to sleep. Sound good?”

Kyle gave a nonverbal gesture of agreement, then dug through the pantry until he found a box of straight vegetable broth. Unscrewing its lid, Kyle offered Kenny a sad little wave before saying, “Sorry, Ken, ‘m usually better at being polite to guests, but I just-”

“-No, it’s okay,” Kenny forced a smile, “You can get some rest if you’re tired, I don’t mind one bit. Besides, I came here to make amends with Stan, anyway.”

Kyle went still at that, his eyes twinkling with a kind of delighted wonder, “Really?”

“Really really. We’re all good now, right?” Kenny threw an arm around the quarterback’s shoulders.

Stan gave his back a firm pat, “Right. We made up, we’re all good.”

Kyle smiled weakly. It really looked like he was genuinely trying to make an effort, but the skin of his cheeks stretched too much, and the bulge behind his eyes was too cogent for his smile to be pleasant. It was like he was a phantom.

“That’s awesome, guys,” he said hoarsely, “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Of course, dude. We’re good friends. We were bound to kiss ‘n make up eventually.”

“Good. That’s good,” he yawned again, “I’m gonna have this and go to bed.”

“That’s okay, Kyle. It’s late,” Stan lied again.

“Yeah, it’s okay, sweet thing. You go get your beauty sleep. You deserve it,” Kenny’s smile was now so fake that he looked like the Cheshire Cat.

“‘kay. G’night.”

“Good night.”

“Sleep tight, Sleeping Beauty.”

Kyle didn’t stay around a moment longer. He limped off up the stairs and into the bedroom, his light footsteps echoing throughout the halls of the Marsh home.

As soon as they heard the bedroom door shut, Kenny immediately turned to Stan.

“Dude, he looks _bad,”_ Kenny stage-whispered, “Like, really, really bad.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “I feel terrible for him. I thought for sure, one hundred percent, that he would feel better and start acting like himself again after he finally told Ike off. I thought he just needed to get that off his chest and then he would finally go back to normal, you know? But, like, it’s the opposite. I think he _feels bad_ for going off in the library like he did. I think it’s really weighing down on him.”

“It’s not that, dude,” Kenny’s eyes were a piercing shade of icy-blue, “It’s not just emotional stuff.”

“Mental, then.”

“No, dude, it’s _physical,”_ Kenny urged, “He’s sick. He’s got to be sick.”

“But he can’t still have DKA, that’s impossible. I check his glucose, like, ten times a day and he’s always fine.”

“Maybe it’s not DKA, it doesn’t have to be that,” Kenny gripped his hair in his hands, “I mean, just the sight of him has to tell you he’s sick. He’s so _tiny,_ dude.”

“He’s wearing Clyde’s sweater,” Stan explained, “It makes him look smaller than he actually is. He’s not really that skinny.”

His words didn’t calm Kenny in the slightest, “Has he been eating okay?”

Stan’s mouth went dry, “No.”

Kenny removed his hands from his hair in an abnormally slow manner, as if he were moving through tar, “Stan. Tell me you’re not-... Ike wasn’t right about you--you know- _starving_ him, was he?”

“God, no, Kenny!” Stan was exasperated, “What kind of monster do you take me for? I’ve been doing just the opposite, dude. I try to get him to eat all the time.”

“And does he?”

“What?”

“Does he eat?”

“Sometimes.”

“What does he eat?”

“I don’t know. Usually liquid foods.”

“How much does he weigh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Whaddya mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know how much he weighs.”

“Geez Louise! You don’t try to feed him?”

“I do try. All the time. I can’t force him,” Stan tried not to be harsh, “You should know that, Kenny, you’re the one who advocates for everything to be Kyle’s choice.”

Kenny grimaced, “I know. I know. I still stand by that. But, like, it’s _food…_ He _needs_ it.”

Stan had to swallow a lump in his throat before saying, “Remember when in the library, Ike said that thing about force-feeding him? That just-... The idea disgusts me. I’m trying to do the exact opposite. I get the feeling Kyle is still pretty mad at Ike, and I want to show him that I’m not Ike. That I’m better. And that I can take better care of him.”

Kenny let out a strained sigh.

“Hey, I swore on my life and Kyle’s that I would do better,” Stan stated bluntly.

“I know. I know. That’s fine. I also disagree with forcing him to do anything. But still,” the blonde replied through clenched teeth, frustration boiling behind the blue of his eyes, “Why’s he so uncomfortable with food anyway? Like, he never used to have problems with food before.”

“Well, that’s not true. He’s had problems with food before,” Stan shook his head to clear his mind, “But right now, he has this, like, paranoid fear of throwing up. Like, to the point where he doesn’t want to eat anything. And when he does, he just wants broth, as you saw.”

“Dude, that’s awful.”

“Yeah. Worst part is, it’s all in his head. Apparently Ike told him something about vomiting as, like, a defense mechanism or something; it spooked him pretty bad and I think that’s why he’s acting this way.”

“Okay nice try there, asshole, but we can’t blame Ike for everything. It’s not a bad theory he had,” Kenny let out a long sigh, “Shitfuck, why does everything just get worse and worse? It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, Ken. That’s a pretty basic life lesson,” Stan said. He moved to the basketball toy in the living room, picking up the little rubber ball on the floor. He started to shoot a few hoops to keep his thoughts flowing, letting the ball rebound off the cardboard backboard.

Kenny followed him and flopped down on the couch dejectedly, “He’s sick.”

“He might not be,” Stan shot a 3-pointer.

“No. He’s _so_ sick,” Kenny grumbled, nursing his beer bottle as he watched Stan play, “You know, it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” Stan shot another 3-pointer.

“Well, I guess it’s not funny. It’s like, sad-funny,” Kenny scratched his nose, “It’s always been a rule of this town, hasn’t it? It’s like an unspoken law that Kyle never wins and bad stuff always happens to him.”

The ball bounced off the flimsy plastic hoop. Stan turned to face Kenny, “What do you mean by that?”

“Like, with Cartman, for example,” Kenny set his beer aside, “He always won. Kyle was the voice of reason, and even if it seemed like he had the upper hand, the fatass always beat him. He’s a stubborn little fighter, and he’ll keep pushing ‘till the end, but he doesn’t win. He has, like, the worst luck in the world. He never wins in South Park.”

“Oh,” Stan stooped down to pick up the ball, “Well, he’s gonna win this time.”

“Against what?” Kenny shifted on the couch, “What is he fighting?”

“I dunno.”

“...”

“...”

“Hey, pal, can I ask you something?” Kenny asked carefully, cautious in the way he looked at him.

The rubber basketball riveted off the hoop completely, Stan jumped to catch the rebound and dunk it back through the net. After he scored, he took a breath and twirled the ball in his hands, “Sure. What do you need?”

“Do you have to play while we’re talking, dude?” Kenny groaned.

“Yeah, actually,” Stan tossed the ball in between his hands, “Kyle says exercise helps clear my head. Was that your question or did you want to ask something else?”

Kenny pursed his lips, “Did you say exercise helps clear your head?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Stan stopped to breathe, “I mean, Kyle and I believe it helps me think better. I think I have more control over myself when I’m moving.”

There was a delighted invigoration sparkling in of Kenny’s eyes that lit up the rest of his face. It was as though he had just seen the most wonderful treasure in the world. He actually guffawed with glee before he said, “Dude! You should go to your game!”

“What?”

“The charity game tomorrow! You should go!”

“I don’t know.”

“Whaddya mean you don’t know? You should go!”

Stan tossed the ball between his hands, “I know it might be good for me-”

“-It would be _so_ good for you!”

“But I can’t just leave Kyle.”

“That won’t be a big deal, I’ll watch him!”

“But he said if I was gonna play, he wanted to come.”

“I’ll sit in the stands with him, dude! We’ll watch you play! Just like old times!”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t know, dude.”

“Bro, you should! You so should!” Kenny was exasperated, “Why don’t you want to?”

“I- I just-” Stan tossed the ball between his hands more fervently now, in an effort to keep his thoughts flowing, “I don’t feel comfortable with that. I- I would much rather have Kyle closer to me. I want to be able to keep an eye on him.”

“But I’d look after him fine. It’s not like I’d be babysitting, I’d only be lookin’ out for the lil’ guy,” Kenny’s tone shifted to something a little softer, “You do trust me, right?”

“It’s not that,” Stan avoided the question, tossing the ball even faster, “It’s just, I mean if anything _happened_ to him, I wouldn’t be able to help unless I walk off the field, you know? It’s like a lose-lose scenario.”

“‘Happen to him?’ What, like he gets hit by a ball?”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Ken. You know what I’m talking about.”

Kenny gave his shoulder a gentle pat, “C’mon, Stan. We both know very well that if we’re there with him, we ain’t gonna let a thing happen to ‘im.”

Brushing aside the physical comfort, Stan just squeezed the ball in his hand almost as if it were a stress-ball, “But what if Ike’s there?”

“Do you really think that pretentious lil’ Canadian is gonna willingly go to a high school American football game?”

“He might if Kyle’s there.”

“...When you’re right, you’re right,” Kenny sighed again, “A’ight I know we keep talking about how the game would be good for you, but do you even _want_ to play?”

Stan squeezed the ball.

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” Stan was squishing it repeatedly now, exactly as if it were a stress-ball, “I really, really do. I haven’t played a game in months. I miss it. I miss the feel of it.”

“Then you should go! C’mon, it’s for _charity!”_ Kenny kicked his feet at the couch, like how an excited little kid would.

“What’s the charity this year?” Stan asked, though he didn’t really want to know.

Kenny poked his cheek with his tongue in thought, “Uh. Let’s see. If I ‘member correctly, it was going to be prostate cancer awareness, I think. But then they kinda changed it last second.”

“They changed it last second? Just like that?”

“I think so. I don’t know the full story.”

“Who changed it?”

“I don’t know. Some guy.”

“What’d they change it to?”

“Uh. Preventing child trafficking, I think? Online trafficking? Something like that.”

Stan made a choked sound, a sound he didn’t even know he was capable of making, “You know about the pictures, too?”

“What pictures?” Kenny tilted his head to the side.

“You don’t know?”

“What’re you talking about? What pictures?”

“...Never mind,” Stan went back to squeezing the ball.

Kenny watched him carefully, “I really think you should go, dude. It’s tomorrow night.”

“Would you lower your voice, damn it? Kyle’s sleeping,” Stan huffed, despite the fact that Kenny was barely talking above a whisper now.

“Bro, if you want to go, you should go. Everyone wants to see you there. Why are you holding back?”

“‘cause I have to watch Kyle.”

“You don’t _have to_ watch him.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I-”

“-Stan!”

Before Kenny’s warning could come out, Stan felt the rubber ball explode from beneath the pressure of his fingers. It ruptured from the inside, the sides caving in and collapsing under a loud _pop._

Kenny gaped, “Dude.”

“...I know. I’m sorry.”

“Dude, that was kinda impressive.”

“Oh, was it?” Stan haphazardly asked. He moved to the kitchen, tossing the deflated ball into the trash can.

“Kinda scary, though,” Kenny took a sip from his beer, eying Stan from a distance, “Did you do that on purpose, or-?”

“No, no,” Stan opened the fridge for another bottle, “I just don’t know my own strength.”

“Oh,” Kenny went abnormally still at that line.

“What?”

“It’s just-...” the blonde was visibly concerned in piecing together the right words, “The broken lock on the front door. Was that you? Did you break that?”

“Yeah. Apparently it wasn’t the first time either,” Stan said before he burped, “Excuse me. Anyway, that’s just what Kyle said when we were in Laramie. He said I broke the bathroom door lock, but I don’t really remember doing that.”

“Didja say you don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember it at all. For that reason, I don’t really believe it happened,” he took another beer from the fridge and then called over his shoulder, “Hey, do you want another?”

“No. Stan-”

“-You driving or something?”

“No, I walked. Stan, you-”

“-More for me, I guess,” Stan said somberly. He unscrewed the lid and sat back down on the sofa.

Kenny didn’t even move to make more room. He just leaned forward on the couch, “You, um-... You should go to the game tomorrow night. Kyle and I will be there, okay? And we’ll keep away from the stands in case Ike’s there.”

“If you aren’t gonna be in the stands, where’ll you sit for the game?” Stan snorted, the effects of the alcohol wearing in, “On top of the goddamn telethon?”

Kenny pursed his lips in contemplation, “What if, uh… Hold on, I’m tryna use my noggin.”

“Good luck,” Stan grunted.

Kenny held up a finger in eureka, “Okay, work with me, here. I got an idea, work with me. What if Kylie-B was y’all’s water-boy?”

“Seriously?”

“What? Why not?” Kenny was becoming enthusiastic, and Stan could see it. He was practically bouncing up and down on the couch cushions as he explained, “He’d be really close to you the whole game, so you can keep an eye on ‘im the whole time, even while you’re playing. And he’d be on the field so no one in the stands could approach him, even if they tried!”

“But Butters is always our water-boy.”

“Psha, it’s _Butters!”_ Kenny laughed, “You know how nice he is, he’ll step aside if Kyle wants him to! Besides, even if he doesn’t, I can get him grounded ‘n get him out of the picture! Literally, all he has to do is breathe too loud before he’s not allowed out of his room!”

“Ken,” Stan pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling the early stages of a headache come upon him, “Don’t you know how _heavy_ that water is, though?”

Kenny laughed, “No, dude. I didn’t know water was heavy!”

“No, the water _barrels._ Those things have got to weigh at least as much as Kyle. There’s no way he’d be able to lift them without hurting himself.”

“Oh,” Kenny resembled the rubber basketball: deflated.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry. Guess I just got excited.”

“You’re fine. You’re allowed to have an imagination.”

“Hey, Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“The, uh. The question I wanted to ask you…”

“Spit it out,” Stan said as lightly as he could.

He could sense his friend’s sensitivity arising, and it made Stan a bit nervous. Kenny looked like he was preparing himself to open Pandora’s Box; he held his head low but his gaze upright, his blue eyes searching for veracity.  
Kenny twirled the bottle cap between his fingers again, his mind travelling elsewhere, when he asked, “So, like-... Do you really not know how much Kyle weighs?”

Stan could have laughed.

But the seriousness in Kenny’s tone forbade him from doing so.  
Instead, Stan just took a gulp from his beer and answered, “No. I mean, yeah. Yeah, I don’t know. Why’s that a concern, exactly?”

“I don’t know, it just won’t sit right with me… I thought you knew absolutely everything about him.”

“I mean, I know a lot. Probably more than anyone else. But I don’t know _everything._ That’s just ridiculous.”

“It’s really not ridiculous, Stan,” Kenny said weakly, the tone in his voice borderline whiny, “Ike, um-... Ike had a point. Ike had a really good point the other day when he said you have an ‘unyielding infatuation’ with Kyle. I swear I thought you knew everything about him. Are you sure you don’t know? I’m pretty sure you know.”

“I really don’t. Why’re you bringing Ike into this?” Stan did his best to not come across as angry, but the ruggedness in his voice probably did just the opposite.

“Because he made a good point, dude. Face the facts.”

“What facts?”

“Stan, you know.”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you know”

“Know _what?”_

“The facts!”

“Kenny, why’re you getting upset?!”

Kenny got up on his knees, leaning forward with an intensity so direct that it made Stan’s heart leap into his throat. His eyes, once sky blue, now icy cerulean, penetrated Stan like needles, a fierce transfixion drilling him to the core.  
Then in a voice that didn’t sound like his own, Kenny delivered the final blow; “Stan, you are _obsessed_ with him! You’re obsessed with Kyle!”

Stan pulled back automatically. He stood up from the couch like a shot, bolting past the living room to the front door, where mere seconds later, he heedlessly found himself lacing up his running shoes.

Kenny scrambled to his side breathlessly, “Dude! What’re you doing?!”

“I-” Stan was out of breath, too, “I don’t know. I- I think I’m going on a run.”

“Stan, no! You can’t just run away from your problems!”

“It’ll be quick, I’ll just-”

“-Stan, _no!”_ Kenny cried. He threw his arms around Stan to lock him in place, hugging him firmly.

Stan had the impulse to pull away and just run for it, but something grounded him to Kenny’s hold. Something about the way Kenny held him was consoling in a way he couldn’t describe. His arms were supportive, understanding. Stan felt like he could sink into Kenny’s chest and disappear into warmth and just leave everything behind. It was as though the mere feeling of being held, of being loved, was able to wash away all the torment in his gut.

Stan’s arms were made of lead. He couldn’t lift them. So Kenny hugged him tighter, using his whole body to encumber him, and Stan leaned in further.

As he fawned there in Kenny’s hold, Stan found himself missing Kyle. They were only a few dozen feet apart. Kyle was only upstairs. But Stan missed him. He missed him severely. He missed him with so much pain and so much intensity that his harbor in Kenny’s arms was acutely destroyed at the thought of him.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, “Sorry.”

Kenny let go of Stan, leaning back to take him in, “No, dude. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve called you out so soon like that. I know you’re… sensitive.”

“It’s okay,” Stan stood on shaky knees, “I know you didn’t mean it.”

“No, I meant it. I just-” Kenny stopped himself. He wiped his nose, turning away, “Are you gonna do your game tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” Stan said, casting a glance upstairs at his bedroom door, where he knew Kyle was sleeping soundly, “I’ll find him a position on the field. I’ll keep him safe.”

 _“We_ will,” Kenny corrected. If he noticed where Stan’s gaze was pointed, he didn’t address it.  
Instead, he just stuffed his hands in the pockets of his parka and asked, “Dude, can I spend the night here? I wanna keep an eye on things. Would that be alright with you?”

“I guess,” Stan answered inattentively, “I don’t really care. I’m, uh, I’m gonna go check on Kyle.”

“But he’s sleeping,” Kenny said, a strained worry creasing into his features.

“I’m just gonna check on him,” Stan was already halfway up the stairs, “Good night, Ken. You can sleep wherever, my parents’ room, my sister’s room, the couch, wherever you want. I don’t care. If you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge.”

“I’m not hungry,” Kenny half-whispered, his eyes glued to the quarterback as he ascended.

“If you get hungry later, then. Make yourself at home,” Stan now arrived at his bedroom door. He was about to walk in, but then he paused, turning around to add, “But Kenny, don’t make any messes, okay? Kyle hates messes.”


	30. Chapter 30

Wednesday faded into Thursday. Kyle unfortunately slept through most of it. Meanwhile, Stan and Kenny tried to make up for lost time by playing games, watching movies, and keeping up aimless conversation. None of it really soothed their nerves. It went unsaid that an invisible tension still remained between them, but both put in noticeable efforts to ignore it--not alleviate it.

Thursday night, they picked up Butters and the four of them carpooled to the game together; Stan drove, Kenny rode shotgun, and Kyle and Butters sat together in the backseat.

It was decided that having Kyle be the water-boy was a dangerous move; Stan knew that he either wouldn’t be able to lift the barrels or he would hurt himself trying. So he was instead going to be a towel bearer and let Butters keep his job--which was news that the little twerp was overwhelmingly excited to hear; though Kyle was blatantly less excited about his job, but Stan knew it was for the better. He told himself that Kyle’s hesitance was just due to the fact he was tired, and he would be more enthusiastic once he was a little more awake.

Stan wouldn’t say it out loud, of course, but it was actually kind of adorable how Butters and Kyle got along with each other. Butters was finally back in possession of his favorite coat, and that seemed to make him all the more happy. He was doing all of the talking, but Kyle was diligently listening, occasionally nodding along or offering a slight smile at Butters’ stories. He talked the entire car ride, educating Kyle about the water-boy position, what to expect at the game, and then eventually ended up talking about books, school, and innocent gossip.

Stan tried to remember if Kyle and Butters were friends once.   
Well, they had to be. Butters was friends with everyone. But what Stan tried to remember was if they were  _ good _ friends.

Right now, they were acting as if they had been good friends at one point or another. However when Stan tried to remember any past events that could confirm this, his mind drew a blank.

As for the front of the car, there was little talking. Stan’s eyes kept flicking back to Kyle to check on him, and Kenny kept reminding him to focus on the road. That was just about the extent of their conversation, which was honestly kind of sad. Even after they made up just yesterday, Stan could sense that Kenny was still holding onto some closeted wariness regarding him. Stan didn’t address it, though, he figured all the tension would ease over once the game started, and all would be well again.

They were in Clyde’s car because Stan was stupid enough to forget to return it Monday, and Clyde was stupid enough to forget that someone else had his car for almost four whole days.

They arranged for Stan to return it at the arena in the parking lot, before any of the festivities began.

Stan was never one to particularly enjoy the pregame festivities and tailgates, strange as it might be. He was the star player and the crowds always knew him by name, so he was practically worshipped when it came to the pregame parties. But something about all of the attention, the idolizing, and the grovelling made him uncomfortable, so he always tried to steer clear from these things when he could.

He couldn’t tonight, though. And he supposed that was fine. It was going to be a special night, he could feel it.

Tonight was the night he was finally taking a step forward for himself. Playing this game was going to push him towards his goal of self-betterment for Kyle. He was finally going to reconnect with his teammates to play the sport that he loved. It was going to be good for his head, especially good for his body, but most importantly, good for his heart.

And for the hearts of others, too.   
By that statement he wasn’t referring to the adoring crowds (though he definitely could; they  _ exalted _ him), he was referring to the fact that this was a charity game. All the money raised from the game would go to saving the exploited lives of dozens, maybe hundreds. This was perhaps the most important charity Stan had ever played for: preventing the profiteering of child-trafficking, both online and in-person.

It was a punch to the gut that Stan was playing for them  _ now,  _ after everything Kyle told him about what his own father was doing to him at home. It had to be due to bad timing, or even simply due to the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, that Stan was playing for them  _ now. _ Whichever reason it was, the significance of this cause nonetheless weighed down on Stan from above.   
But at the same time, Stan probably wouldn’t value the charity as much if Kyle never told him about his home life. If he hadn’t confided in him, Stan might have just brushed off tonight’s game like it were any other game without a care in the world.

For that reason Stan found himself even more grateful for his super best friend finally opening up. Thanks to everything Kyle told him, Stan was more determined than ever to play well tonight and to do some good for the cause.

He was glad Kenny and Kyle persuaded him to play tonight. It was going to be a good game.

“Stan!” Kenny cried from the passenger seat, snapping him from his thoughts, “Look at the goddamn road! I swear to God if you get distracted one more time, I’m driving!”

Butters giggled from the backseat, which only embarrassed Stan more.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, pulling into the arena’s parking lot. The ice on the pavement was nonexistent; it had been scraped dry in anticipation of a large crowd. And a large crowd there was indeed.

Stan had to drive with extra caution as people swamped the entire lot, many of them failing to pay attention to the cars around them. He had to brake the car when literally the entire drumline marched by, right in front of his car, taking their sweet time promenading in pomp and circumstance as they played their music.

“Oh, come  _ on,”  _ he groaned, pressing his face into the steering wheel.

“Man, these guys are fire!” Kenny laughed, “This beat hits hard!”

Kyle and Butters leaned in from the backseat, watching the drumline pass them in awe.

“Oo, look at  _ that _ drum! It sure plays swell!” Butters cheered, pointing to a percussionist carrying a full quad set of tenor drums on his chest as he played.

“I’ve always wanted to play one of those,” Kyle said, a tinge of bittersweetness in his voice, “What’s that type of drum called, Stan?”

“Hm?” Stan was a little distracted, “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really care about the drumline, I never really pay attention.”

“It’s called a quad!” Butters filled in, “It looks really big, though. Could be a quint, or it might even have some spocks or gocks on it!”

Kenny laughed, “Okay, now you’re just making up words. Who d’ya think you are? Ike fucking Broflovski?”

Stan winced when Kenny delivered the joke.

But much to his relief, when Stan looked through the rearview mirror to the backseat, he found that Kyle only smirked casually at the line.

“Stan, I swear to fucking God. Focus on the road before you kill someone. I’m gonna trade seats with you, dude, I swear,” Kenny scolded, a sort of ironic annoyance in his tone. He wasn’t actually angry, but Stan played along anyway.

“Dude! We’re not even moving forward! I have my breaks on! Stop yelling at me!”

“I’m not yelling, you’re yelling!”

“Uh, hi, fellers? I hate to interrupt, but-” Butters lightly intervened. He gave a delicate point to the front window, “We got a situation...”

When Stan laid eyes on what Butters was referring to, he slapped himself on the forehead, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Bebe Stevens was sitting coyly on the hood of Clyde’s car. She was dressed in a coquettish skirt far too short for her own good, making a show of her bright red platform stilettos as she spread them for all around her to see. Her face was painted in school colors, but in a way that made her look less childish and more amorous.

Kenny whistled.

Stan shoved his tongue into his cheek and shook his head, “This is why I hate pregame festivities.”

“She is the  _ only _ person who would wear those shoes to a football game.”

“She just wants attention.”

“At least she’s having fun, right?”

“Don’t encourage her, Ken,” Stan said disgruntledly. He put his hand to the steering wheel and pressed down on the horn.

The beep immediately made Bebe jump, as she whipped around with a start.

Stan rolled down the window and stuck his head out to talk to her, “Bebe, what are you doing? We’re trying to get through this lot.”

Bebe went red in the face, covering her mouth with her hand, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I thought this was Clyde’s car!”

“It is, but I think he hitched a ride with Craig.”

“Well! I wish he’d told me that before I went and gammed a bunch of strangers!” Bebe whined, sliding off the hood of the car, the motion making her skirt ride up her rear.

Butters covered his eyes innocently.

Her stilettos clicking down the pavement, Bebe approached the driver’s side of the car to apologize when she stopped short at the sight of who the driver actually was. Her jaw dropped in realization, “Stan?!”

He gave a halfhearted wave, “Hi.”

She was practically fuming.

“...Sorry about your party.”

“You should be! You ruined everything!” her raspy voice resembled a blaring siren, “I had kids over from the whole county, Stan! The whole county! Do you know how hard it was to get a hundred kids together in the middle of a pandemic?! ‘cause of you, they all hated it! Every one of them!”

“They didn’t hate it. Everyone had a great time,” Stan tried to assure her, though he was sure she could pick up on the lack of enthusiasm in his tone.

“No! They all hated it and it’s all your fault, you big bully! Why are you such a violent jerk?!”

Kyle peeked forward from the backseat, “Bebe, he apologized, okay? He feels bad about what he did. He’s been doing a lot better. So lay off just a bit, would you?”

“Oh my God,” Bebe had to do a double-take, “Kyle, is that you? Oh my God, is that  _ you?!” _

“Um. Yeah? It’s me,” Kyle gave a side-glance to Stan, asking for support with his eyes.

Stan provided immediately, “What’s your problem, Bebe?”

“...I guess I just- I wasn’t expecting him to be so- uh… Wow,” she licked her cherry-colored lips in hesitance, “Kyle, you look different, dude. You look really… different.”

Kyle gave Stan another side-glance to ask for help.

“He’s just not been feeling himself lately, but he’s getting better. And he’ll be fine for tonight’s game, so you don’t have to worry about him,” Stan said. From his peripheral vision, he could see Kenny giving him a strange look from behind, but he pretended not to notice.

There was a prominent dip in the pacing of their conversation. A full twenty seconds had to have passed before Bebe spoke again, and when she did, she didn’t even address Stan.

“Kyle, thanks for coming to my party,” she said, “I feel kinda special to’ve hosted your first. It’s just a crying shame it ended the way it did.”

“It’s no problem, it wasn’t your fault. Thanks for having me,” Kyle fake-smiled, “You were a great hostess. I had fun for a little while, at least.”

“Yeah, but I’m real sorry it was your  _ first _ party, dude. Like, that’s so sad. I’m so sorry about the end. My girlfriends and I were, like, crying for you about it.”

“Bebe-”

“-Really, we were! We were all FaceTiming later that night, and we were talking about you, and Leslie told us some stuff, and some tears were shed, and it was like-... It  _ sucked,  _ Kyle. It all  _ sucked _ for you. I’m real sorry, dude.”

“Bebe, you’re fine. It wasn’t your fault. You’re okay. I had fun, really.”

“Okay, if you don’t mind-” Stan interjected, readying his hands at the steering wheel, “We’d like to return Clyde’s car now, so…”

“Fine, fine. Go do your fucking thing,” Bebe pouted, pulling back from the window, shooting Stan a nasty sneer, “Just don’t ruin this game by attacking that innocent linebacker again. You already ruined my party, don’t ruin this for me too, bitch.”

Stan shifted the car into park, “Hold on a sec. What’d you say?”

She groaned, whipping around to lean through the window again, “I said ‘bitch.’ You got a problem with a gal calling a guy ‘bitch?’ It’s a way of taking back the word, you bitch!”

“-No, no, I heard that,” Stan leaned forward on his seat, something bubbling in his gut, “The- The other thing. What’d you say about a linebacker?”

Kenny stuck his hand out, “Wait, maybe we shouldn’t-”

“-No, Ken, it’s fine. Bebe, tell me. What linebacker?”

She stared at him, “Don’t you know you’re playing North Park High tonight?”

Kenny took a sharp inhale, turning away from them to keep his gaze pointed strictly out his window.

Stan, however, was not as easily composed. He was so stunned that he accidentally let go of the clutch and the car jerked forward violently, nearly hitting a few pedestrians. The pedestrians jumped back and responded by throwing their paper snack-bags at the front windshield, pieces of popcorn raining down the window as Stan tried to get a grip on himself.

“I- um. I’m sorry,  _ what?”  _ he could feel himself starting to panic. The breath was completely knocked out of him, and he was struggling to get it back under his control.

Bebe eyed him curiously, “You good?”

Kyle shot forward from the backseat, putting his hand on Stan’s shoulder, “Hey, it’s okay! Stan- Stan, are you paying attention? Stan, it’s okay, dude, honest!”

“But- But she said North Park. But he- I didn’t know we were playing North Park, honest to God, I didn’t know, I-” Stan stammered wildly, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He barely registered Kyle’s hand on his shoulder, despite the fact his grip was as tight as he could muster.

“Stan!” Kyle cried eagerly now, “It’s not like you’ll be fighting the guy who kissed me. Use some common sense. There’s only a  _ slight _ chance he would be on the football team!”

“And even if he was-” Kenny cut in, strangely serious, “They wouldn’t let him play. He’s way too injured. I doubt the guy’s even out of the hospital yet.”

Bebe guffawed, “Wait, you put that hunk of meat who kissed Kyle in the  _ hospital?” _

“He did,” Kenny pursed his lips, “And like I said, he’s probably still there. Pigs would fly before they’d let that kid play a football game, or even  _ come to _ one.”

Stan was halfway alleviated. The tension boiling inside of him was still on the rise, but he was able to get his breathing under control. He took a few deep breaths and tried to collect his thoughts.

Stan had to remind himself that Kyle would spend the game on the field at his side, away from all the other people in the arena. He would be entirely alienated from all strangers who put his health at risk, and would be at a perfectly safe distance from all North Park players. Even if someone tried to approach him from the North Park side of the field, that someone would have to get past Stan, and the idea of someone actually getting past him was so ludicrous it was laughable.

Having come to that conclusion, Stan took another deep breath. He shifted the car into drive, saying, “Okay Bebe, I’m going to drive now. I recommend getting away from the car.”

He glanced up at the rearview mirror to see Kyle grinning at him, “Good, Stan. Do you see what I was talking about, Kenny? Stan can control himself really well now! He didn’t, like, go off or anything!”

Kenny grinned too, though Stan could tell he only did it for Kyle’s sake. Kenny didn’t look convinced by his words in the least, but he smiled anyway.

Bebe just watched the whole exchange with an exasperated expression, “Um. Excuse me? Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

“I really recommend stepping away from the car, Bebe,” Stan repeated, “I’m gonna start driving. I don’t want to hit you. Those look like expensive shoes.”

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” she snarled, “I don’t know why I ever invited you!”

She stood where she was, waiting for him to rebuttal. But Stan had nothing to say. He didn’t want to pick a fight. He was saving his energy for the field, because he really was looking forward to this game. Even with the interruption Bebe and the other pregame partiers caused, Stan was excited to get down to the field and play for the cause.

So Stan held his tongue. The sooner Bebe left, the sooner he could return this car, and the sooner he could get down to the field to start warming up.

When it finally dawned on her that Stan didn’t have anything more to say, she huffed at him, “You know, I almost wouldn’t care if we lose the game tonight! At least if we lose, it’ll mean someone finally managed to kick your ass, Stan!”

“Are you gonna let me drive, or what?”

Bebe scowled, stomping her foot. Then without a proper goodbye, she stormed off, following the crowd into the arena, shooting Stan the middle finger behind her back.

Stan could only sigh and shake his head as she walked off.

“Uh, fellers, is she decent now?” Butters asked, his hands still chastely covering his eyes.

“Oh my God, Butters,” Kyle tried to hold back laughter, “I was wondering why you were so silent all of a sudden.”

“What?” Butters asked innocently. He took his hands off his eyes and started rubbing his knuckles together, “My parents taught me to not look at a woman while she’s indecent, even if she  _ wants _ you to look at ‘er.”

Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose, though it was clear he was two seconds away from erupting into laughter, too, “How you managed to make it to senior year of high school and still remain so pure, I have no idea.”

“What? What’d I say?”

“Nothing, Butters.”

“No, really, fellers! What’d I say?”

“I love you, Butters. Never change.”

“What’d I say?!”

“Just never change, okay? Never change.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

While Kenny and Butters went on prattling in that petty way that only (foster-)siblings do, Stan managed to get through the crowd and park the car in a secure spot close to the back entrance of the arena. He turned off the headlights and killed the engine, unlocking the car so everyone could get out.

Though Stan probably didn’t need to, he went around the backside of the car to help Kyle out.

“Dude,” Kyle muttered, unclipping his seatbelt, “I can get out on my own.”

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” Stan said, helping him anyway by holding onto his arms to keep him steady.

Kyle was still dressed in Clyde’s varsity sweater; Stan couldn’t remember if he had taken it off a single time since he put it on. It draped over him like a carpet, hanging all the way down to his knees.   
The sleeves of it were even worse, dangling at least half a foot, if not longer, from his hands. They tried rolling up the sleeves once or twice, but that just made him look even more derisory, as the fabric doubled in size and made Kyle look like he was trapped in a straight-jacket.   
Stan really couldn’t complain, though. It covered him up well and kept him warm, what more did he need? Kyle never brought up any problems with it, so Stan had to assume everything was fine.

When Kyle was out of the car, he started fiddling with the sleeves, “Is Clyde gonna want this back?”

Stan shrugged, “He probably forgot he owns it. I mean, if he went four days before realizing he didn’t have his  _ car--  _ which, by the way, I don’t even know how that’s possible, he literally drives it to and from school every day--I doubt he can even remember the sweater exists.”

“Good point,” Kyle gave a half-hearted smirk.

Kenny and Butters filed out of the car soon afterwards, still estranged in pointless bickering;

“Kenny, why are you not telling me what you meant? What’d I say? I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?”

“Butters, you are totally blowing this out of proportion. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. Let it slide, dude.”

“Did I say something wrong? Am I gonna get in trouble?””

“Jesus  _ Christ, _ Butters.”

Stan was about to announce that they would leave for the locker rooms now, but he stopped himself before he did, and for good reason.

At this point, the foster-brothers’ quibbling evolved to a keener altercation. They were now engaged in some sort of senseless argument, spewing out at each other loudly. After giving Stan an exhausted gesture that said “this is gonna take a while,” Kenny took Butters by the crook of his elbow, and walked him down the parking lot until they were under the light of a lamppost, where they could bicker without disturbing anyone.

Kyle gave a weak smile, “They’re gonna be fine, right?”

“Butters has always been too sensitive. He’s making something out of nothing. He’ll get over it, I’m sure,” Stan shook his head, “They’ll catch up with us later. For now, I’m taking you down to the locker rooms.”

“Ooo,” Kyle gave a dry laugh, falling into step with Stan as he followed him down the sidewalk, “I finally get the grand tour of where my bestie acts gay with the homies.”

“Oh, come on. Locker room drama is a total myth and it only happens in movies,” Stan grinned, feeling a sense of excitement stir within him at Kyle’s use of sarcasm--something he hadn’t done for  _ days _ now.

“Nuh-uh. You’re totally lying, Stan. We both know you probably juul and whip everybody in there with a towel.”

“That’s not true, I do not!”

“I’ve heard rumors that in the locker room, there’s a chart where you guys keep track of days since you last had sex. Is that true?”

“Okay, that’s not fair. That was a  _ one time thing!” _

“So it is true!”

“Is not! It was just a stupid idea of Bradley’s! It was totally a bust, though, and everyone got bored with it after a week!”

“Stan-”

“Really! Half the guys on our team are virgins, and Craig’s the only one with a serious relationship, everyone else just sleeps around at random, so there really wasn’t any-”

“-Stan-”

“-point to it. Everything else is just a total myth. My team respects that locker rooms are a place of decency and privacy, and-”

“-Stan!” Kyle exclaimed breathlessly, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt, tugging until Stan came to a halt. Scrambling to collect his breath, Kyle blurted: “I was jus’ gonna ask you to slow down! That’s all. You- You’re walking too fast.”

“Oh,” Stan frowned. He had been walking at a normal pace.

But here Kyle was, strained, winded, and red in the face.

“Sorry,” Stan apologized. He waited for Kyle to catch his breath before he started walking past the fence gate to the small concrete building, this time exercising extreme passiveness. He kept his pace as slothful as he could without making it obvious. But this time, the two of them walked in silence.

Kyle trodded along at his hip, limping because of the boot around his foot. He didn’t let go of Stan’s shirt, not even as they made it to the front door of the locker room; he kept his grip tight, and his eyes downcast.

Just as they approached the building, the metal door swung open in a quick thrash.

Craig Tucker stood poised in his uniform, his outstretched arm holding the door open. He had a rested expression, but his eyes took upon a sense of elation when he recognized who was outside the door in front of him. His eyebrows raised tremendously as he stared at Stan, his jaw clenched tight around his blue mouthguard.

Stan had to admit he felt a little guilty. He should have told his teammates that he was coming in advance. But it was too late for that now, and here he was, ready to play.

He smiled, “Hey, Craig. Long time no see, right? It’s gonna be a great game tonight.”

Craig spat out his mouthguard, “Fuck you, Stan.”

Stan stalled, “Uh. What? I’m sorry, did I do something?”

Craig responded with his trademark middle finger, before slamming the door shut in his face.

Stan and Kyle shared an uneasy look.

“What was that about?” Kyle asked warily.

“No idea,” Stan swallowed, his mouth going dry, “Should- Should we come back later?”

Before Kyle could reply, the door swung open again, this time by none other than Clyde Donovan, grinning toothily. Stan was just about to hand him the car keys, when seemingly out of nowhere, Clyde embraced him in a giant bear hug.

“You came! Oh my God, you actually came!” he shouted with joy, the shoulderpads of his uniform digging into Stan’s chest. Without letting Stan go, he called to their teammates in the locker room, “Guys! Guys! Look who showed up after all!”

Over Clyde’s shoulders, Stan watched as at least half a dozen of his teammates ran and bounded to greet him with elation, clad in uniform and thrilled faces.

“Oh my God, Stan! Dude, we were worried sick about you!”

“You know damn well I wasn’t gonna play without you!”

“Always have to make an entrance, don’t you?”

“Hey, I got your tail on the field today, okay? I’ll look out for you, man.”

“Bro, I missed you!”

As Stan was swamped with hyperactive greetings, he felt a few friendly slaps to the back of his neck, a few rough pats on his shoulders in that two-fisted, masculine way that only teammates could rouse each other. It was a sturdy influx of camaraderie that surrounded him; it was an arduous greeting he hadn’t expected, and one he certainly hadn’t thought he deserved.

The gesture was something so unexpected that Stan couldn’t bring himself to appreciate it.

He held up his hands to signal an end to his grand welcome, the boys only choosing to casually back off into the locker room on their own time, laughing or joshing around unperturbed. As Stan just stood there waiting for them to disappear, Clyde finally released him from the hug, giving his arms a good pat.

“Thank you, Clyde,” Stan sighed, shrugging him off. He surrendered the car keys, “All I wanted was to give you your car back.”

Clyde blanched, “Wait. So you’re not playing?”

“No, I am. I am, I promise.”

Clyde smiled.

Stan did, too, “Yeah, I’m playing. I just- I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome, I guess.”

Plucking the keys from Stan’s hand, Clyde shrugged playfully, “What can I say, dude? The boys missed you. We all did. We all know damn well we’re toast without you. You’re the saving grace of this team.”

“I am not.”

“You are so,” Clyde laughed, “Literally, we’re shit without you, and we all know it. So can you really be mad that everyone was so happy to see you?”

“Almost everyone,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, “My favorite wide receiver didn’t seem so happy.”

“Who, Craig?” Clyde rolled his eyes, “Nah, man. He and Token were just betting on if you were gonna show up or not. He’s only pissed ‘cause now he owes Token five dollars. As if  _ he _ of all people needs any more money.”

Stan accidentally laughed, “Okay, well I guess that explains it.”

“Really, man, we’re all  _ psyched _ to see you,” Clyde persisted even further. He gave Stan’s arms another pat, this time with a little more earnestness, his brow tenuously furrowing. He lowered his voice, grip still rested on Stan’s arms, before saying, “We, uh, we all saw what happened at Bebe’s party. Some of us were in the library when-... some other stuff went down. And, uh, we’ve all heard rumors, man. We’ve heard a lot of rumors.”

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

“If you- If you don’t want me to play… If you want me to leave, I can totally-”

“-No, dude! No way!” Clyde cried, “None of us believe that shit! I wanted to tell you that! All of us are on your side, man! The whole football team, the whole school, literally everyone in the audience!”

Stan took a step back now.

Confused, he turned to Kyle for an explanation, but he appeared to be just as perplexed as Stan was.

Just in the nick of time, Token stepped in. He was only half-dressed and he was barefoot, but Stan could tell from the confidence in his dark eyes alone that he had a much better understanding of whatever the hell Clyde was trying to say. Giving the linebacker a gentle push to the side, Token took the space of the doorframe, “He means that we don’t believe in any of it.”

Stan pieced it all together aloud, “You don’t believe… the rumors.”

“No,” Token shook his head, tying his belt around his pants without shame, “We all saw you beat up that guy, but come on, we know you, Stan. We know you wouldn’t hurt a fly without a good reason.”

“Yeah,” Clyde stretched his arms above his head casually, “I mean, I didn’t really see what happened, but some people say that the guy was groping Kyle or some shit. And if that was my best friend being touched like that, believe me, I’d go and beat the snot out of him, too.”

Kyle and Stan exchanged a look.

“Whether that was the case or just another rumor,” Token went on, “We all trust you. We know what you did at Bebe’s party had to be for a good reason. And we know you’ve been absent for personal reasons, and we respect that.”

Clyde cut in again, “Literally  _ all _ of us, dude! You know how much these audiences love you! They all came tonight ‘cause they still support you, this whole town does! We all know you didn’t do anything bad!”

“Oh,” Stan said.

Token and Clyde were gawking at him expectantly, earnestly waiting for him to say more.

But as strange as it may be, Stan found that he wasn’t deeply moved. Right now, it felt like this moment mirrored the greeting his team gave him; it was overwhelming with kindness and adoration, but for some reason it didn’t  _ resonate _ with him. Despite the abundance of fidelity encumbering him from all sides, Stan couldn’t feel any of it.   
What was strange was that nothing was preventing Stan from feeling adored. There were no obstacles, no invisible barriers, nothing. There was just the blatantly clear fact that for Stan, it didn’t feel like love.

Just like the long drive home from Laramie, with his Dad opening up about his problems with alcohol beside him, Stan was supposed to be overcome with emotion. He was supposed to respond naturally. But he felt nothing at all.

Stan made himself smile, “That’s- uh. That’s great, guys. Really. Thanks so much.”

“Of course, man, anything for you,” Clyde grinned. His eyes darted to the side, finally noticing that Kyle was present for the first time that night, “Who’s this? And why’s he wearing my sweater?”

Stan and Kyle gave each other another silent exchange.

“Make sure your helmet’s on tight tonight, Clyde, I think you’ve taken a little too much damage to the brain,” Stan forced himself to laugh, though it really wasn’t funny at all.

But it wasn’t just Clyde who was acting a little off.

Token was also looking peculiarly at Kyle, staring at him bewilderedly, as if he were some kind of ghost, “No, but seriously, Stan. Who is this? You can’t just bring strangers back here, this is a private area for student athletes only.”

“Guys, it’s just Kyle,” Stan said, suspicion prickling from the center of his chest.

Token and Clyde just stared at him like they were seeing Medusa’s head.

Kyle self-consciously wrapped his arms around himself, the sleeves of the sweater racking against his thin frame. A lump visibly rose in his throat when he had to explain, “Hey, guys, it’s just me. What’s up? Is everything good?”

At the sound of his voice, Token’s eyes widened so much that Stan could see white around all sides of his irises, and Clyde released a surprised choking sound.

Kyle hugged himself tighter.

The brunette linebacker nervous-laughed, “Woah! Sorry, dude! Didn’t mean to-... freak out, or whatever, I just-... I dunno. I guess you, uh. You look a little-”   
Clyde stopped himself midway through the sentence, and then said, “You know what? Just keep that sweater. I got, like, twenty of those things. So just-...”   
He bit his lip, “Just keep it.”

Stan put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder to comfort him, but all Kyle had to say was: “I, um... I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Right in here, dude,” Token held his arm out, “Come with me, I’ll show you.”

Stan stepped in, “No, it’s okay. I’ll take him.”

“No, it’s no problem. I’ll take him,” Token said with a guarded sternness. He used his arm to guide Kyle around the bend of the doorway, shooting Stan a look that he couldn’t quite understand before he and Kyle both disappeared out of his line of vision.

Stan was just about to follow them, but he felt a hand slap on his shoulder from behind.

“We’re back!” Kenny cheered. He gave an eye roll before he said, “Butters just gets emotional on charity nights. Problem solved. We’re all good. Right, B?”

Butters jogged up to his side, perfectly content, as if nothing had ever happened, “Yup! Sorry about the delay. Hi, Clyde!”

“Hey, lil’ B. Hey, Ken. Thanks for coming to the game tonight,” Clyde greeted with a more reserved friendliness. Stan could tell by the fragility of his nature, he was still disturbed by that strange moment from a few seconds ago. He looked shaken to the core, but he was giving a noticeable effort to be cordial.

“Where’s Kyle?” Kenny asked, looking around.

“Bathroom.”

“I’d love to stay and chit-chat, fellers,” Butters was taking off his shoes as he spoke, “But I gotta get inside and put my jersey on. The game’s startin’ soon.”

“Good call,” Clyde said, “I’d better warm up before I sprain my foot or something stupid like that. You coming in, Stan?”

“To the bathroom?”

“To the lockers. To get dressed. You, uh-” Clyde pointed out the fact that Stan was only clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Kenny gently knocked his shoulder, “He will in a moment. I gotta talk to him real quick. Go on in, though. I won’t hold him long.”

“Bye-bye, Ken! See you in a few!” Butters waved, before jogging off inside the locker room, toting his shoes in his hand. Clyde just offered a peace sign before following him away, the door slamming shut behind them, leaving Kenny and Stan alone in the frigid nighttime air.

The cacophony of arena speakers started to sound in the near distance, but to Stan, it sounded like it was a million miles away.

“Kenny?” Stan asked, his voice accidentally coming across as too loud, “What’d you mean you had to talk to me?”

Kenny waved his hand dismissively, “Just for a sec, dude. Nothing serious. At least, I don’t think so.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, “Kenny?”

“Calm down. Just two quick things, dude!” Kenny held up fingers for a visual, “Number one, I just wanted to say that if the Kylie-B doesn’t wanna be your towel boy, or he gets tired of it, or something like that, he can come sit up with me in the seats, okay? I bought tickets real close to the front. We’d both be able to see each other up close.”

“Only if he really wants to, and if you can manage to be six feet away or more from everyone else, and if Ike isn’t anywhere in sight.”

“That’s the second thing,” Kenny said, an intrigued twinkle in his eye, “I just wanted to let you know I’m gonna be on the hunt for that boy.”

Stan felt himself smile at that, “Now that’s a good idea.”

“Hold on, now,” Kenny backtracked a bit, “I ain’t gonna do anything to him! I’m just gonna see if he’ll be in the arena at all, and if he is, I’ll prolly ask him a few questions.”

Just as soon as Stan’s excitement started, it deflated.

He sighed, rolling his head back on his shoulders, “Kenny, you’re too passive for your own good, you know that?”

“I’ll keep that in mind, dude,” Kenny said, looking at him strangely. Then, he gave Stan a parting wave, “A’ight, I’m off to the stadium. Keep an eye on the Kylie-B, and let him come to me if he needs me, ‘kay?”

“I guess,” Stan shrugged. He didn’t wait for Kenny to leave, he moved past him through the front door of the locker room, ensuring that it closed behind him.

He had to navigate his way through the chaos and stench of the corridor-esque locker room. A few guys were aimlessly throwing a football around, Craig’s bottle of cologne spilled, and Bradley (because there  _ has _ to be that  _ one kid _ in every locker room who does this; an athlete of any trade would know) was walking around with his bottom half naked, looking for his lucky underpants.

Stan could only sardonically laugh to himself and inch through the turbid room until he made it to his secluded locker in the corner.

His locker was regally larger than everyone else’s, though that wasn’t his idea. The spacious locker was a gift from his coach after all the consecutive victories Stan accomplished for the team. A widespread poster of himself in uniform adorned the wall just adjacent to it, but again, that wasn’t Stan’s idea. The poster made himself out to be a godlike creature, the lighting defining his muscles, the football clenched in his fist shining brightly, and the edits making his fake smile look genuine.

Stan frowned when he approached the poster. He’s hated it for as long as he could remember.

He tried to ignore the eyesore and just focus on getting dressed in his uniform. He found with great satisfaction that every piece of clothing still fit the same. Even though it’s been months since he’s last worn the uniform, everything from the leggings to the shoulder pads still fit perfectly.

When he looked at himself in the mirror of his locker, he felt an immediate wave of relief. Looking at his reflection, he just saw himself, not the over-idolized Hercules everyone else made him out to be. And he found great comfort in that.

He actually smiled at his reflection.

Then the bathroom door opened just behind him, and Kyle and Token filed out accordingly. Token was talking to him, halfway through a sentence, but Kyle was paying him little attention. When the redhead noticed Stan’s presence in the room, he made a beeline for his side, an unnatural panic in his fervent green eyes.

He tugged on Stan’s sleeve, “Hey, can we talk?”

Stan immediately shot Token a passionate glare, but Token just backed up with a confused look on his face.

Wordlessly, Stan wrapped his arm around Kyle’s waist and led him back out the locker room. He walked a good few yards outside, away from the concrete building, before he let Kyle go, backing up to take in the sight of him.

“Is everything okay? Token didn’t- Did Token do something? Did he-”

“-Stan, it’s not just Token,” Kyle puled, the sadness in his eyes making him look like an entirely different person.

“Wha- What do you mean?”

“It’s not just Token, it’s everyone,” Kyle crossed his arms, “Why did he have to ‘take me’ to the bathroom, huh? What am I, three years old? Am I too incompetent to take a piss on my own?”

Stan felt ice prickling at the back of his neck, “You’re not incompetent. You’re really smart, Kyle, I’ve said that a million times.”

“Nobody treats me like I am!” he wrapped his arms tighter around himself, “And why were Token and Clyde looking at me like that? Bebe, too. It was- It was like they didn’t recognize me. Why were they doing that? Is this- Is this some kind of mean  _ game  _ that I don’t know about?”

“No, Kyle, there’s no game.”

“This has to be a game, right?” Kyle was on the verge of tears now, but he was fighting against them, “‘cause I’m just an incompetent three-year-old and it’s funny for you guys to make fun of me and pretend you don’t recognize me! That  _ has _ to be it, right?”

“No, Kyle!” Stan was about to lurch forward and hug him, but it took every muscle in his body to restrain himself, remembering that Kyle didn’t like being touched anymore. He could feel his muscles twitching with anticipation, his gut lurching as he held himself back. He felt like at any moment he could break and reach out to touch Kyle, but he held his ground in his private turmoil.

Stan had to take a deep breath to calm himself before saying, “You- People just look different when they’ve been sick. And- And you were a little bit sick for a little while. That’s all. It’s normal, Kyle.”

“You think that’s it?”

“That, and they’re probably just a little antsy because of the game tonight. Their nerves are all over the place. They’re probably just not in their right minds.”

Kyle looked him up and down. He hugged himself a little tighter before saying, “Stan, make sure to protect your head out there, okay? Make sure your helmet’s on nice and tight.”

“I will,” Stan vowed, not acknowledging that he thought it was a strange request, “It’s gonna be a great game.”

“If you say so.”

“What’s wrong?”

Kyle didn’t make eye contact when he asked, “Do I have to be your towel bearer?”

“It’s an important job,” Stan blinked.

“Is it? I mean, all I do is literally sit on a bench and then come give you a towel when you get sweaty.”

“I want to have you at arm’s length during the game so I don’t have to worry about you. That’s not a crime.”

Stan’s words didn’t seem to settle Kyle in the slightest. If anything, Kyle just got more tense.

“Just-” Kyle’s stare was vacant now, “Just wear your helmet right tonight, okay? You- You’re gonna get a lot better tonight. This exercise is gonna be really good for you.”

“It is,” Stan promised, “I know it is. I’m feeling better already.”

The redhead brought his eyes up to Stan’s level now, “Good. That’s-... That’s good. This is going to be so good for you. Really, everyone is here for you tonight, dude. They’re all here ‘cause they love you.”

“...Yeah.”

“You gave me my day,” Kyle said, smiling at the memory of the Sunday they spent together, “This night is yours, okay? Stay safe and make the most of it.”

“I will.”

“And hey, Stan, I just remembered! Did anybody tell you that your favorite person is going to sing the national anthem?”

“You are?”

Kyle pulled a strange face, “No, dude. Wendy Testaburger. She’s singing the Star Spangled Banner for opening.”

“Oh,” for some reason, Stan felt his heart drop down into his gut.

“Yeah, I didn’t know she could sing either. Hopefully her voice is as good as her grades,” Kyle said, a touch of irony in his tone. When he looked at Stan again, his expression shifted, “Dude, you okay?”

“Wendy…” Stan struggled to find the right words, “Wendy’s not my favorite person.”

“Oh,” Kyle said. A moment later, a smirk showed up on his face, “I think I know who is.”

“You probably do.”

“Miss Nichole Daniels,” he smirked, a glint in his eye.

Something went cold in Stan’s chest, the blood in his veins going icy. His tongue was frozen to the back of his throat; he found that he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“I saw the two of you dancing at Bebe’s party,” Kyle grinned innocently, “She totally has the hots for you, dude. You should ask her out.”

“Kyle, I can’t-” Stan choked out, his stone-cold tongue feeling like a dead weight in his mouth.

“Oh,” Kyle lightly laughed, “Are you worried about me being jealous? Dude, she only had a thing for me in the  _ fourth grade,  _ and it only lasted for like a week. I’m sure her crush dispelled after that stunt Cartman pulled. Besides, it’s not like I could ever be with her. She is  _ way  _ out of my league!”

“Kyle…”

“She’s all yours, dude. Go for her,” Kyle turned to his side, “Anyway, I have to get back to the locker room now. Butters said he was gonna find me a jersey to wear for the field, and he has to get me fitted. I’ll see you in five?”

“...Sure.”

“Okay, then,” Kyle gave a halfheated wave. He looked Stan up and down again before turning inside the locker room, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Stan alone in the dark of the night, surrounded by nothing but his overwhelming thoughts, the speakers of the stadium booming aimlessly in the background.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, you deserve a bouquet of flowers, I swear! I cannot express how kind and supportive a lot of you have been <3  
> I apologize for the length of this chapter. It is a tidbit longer than I would prefer, but I felt like it needed to be this length considering all the content. It may be a bit choppy, but I think it might work? Prepare thyself :0
> 
> Also, quick hiatus after this chapter. I promise to post the next chapter sometime within the /second week of July/  
> 
> 
> Warnings: /extreme/ violence, dubious violence, upsetting suspicions, and death
> 
> (Oof)

Stan couldn’t be certain, but he swore that at the last verse of the Star Spangled Banner, Wendy Testaburger was looking at him.

It was a large arena. It had to be housing at least a couple hundred people right now, and it was nighttime, the only brightness coming from the stadium lights, so she really could have been looking at anyone; under all these conditions, it was hard to say for sure. But Stan  _ swore _ she was looking right at him. He could feel the burn of her dark brown eyes, the vibrant intensity of her soul beneath them as her voice serenaded the valley.

Whatever message she was trying to give him, it didn’t reach him. There were too many emotions in her chocolate-colored eyes, too many hidden messages in her song, and far too many distractions from all around the arena for Stan to be able to hone in on her. She was trying to give a private message in a public space. In Stan’s space. In his arena.

So Stan didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt. He just went on doing what everybody else was doing, holding his hand over his heart, his helmet at his hip, as he honored the American flag; he didn’t even give her a passing glance.

Like he said to Kyle, she wasn’t his favorite person anymore.

Just like the drive home from Laramie, the welcome from his teammates, and the adoration of the crowd, Wendy just couldn’t  _ affect  _ him anymore. She didn’t mean anything. She didn’t feel like love.

_ “O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!”  _ Wendy finished on a high note, her singing voice remarkably more angelic than what Stan anticipated. Dressed in a pale green ball gown, she waved a ‘thank you’ to the crowd, smiling from ear to ear as they erupted into cheers. Gathering tufts of her dress in her hands, she tried to make eye contact with Stan one last time before she was escorted off the field.

Even if Stan  _ wanted _ to look at her, he couldn’t. There were too many other important things going on that snared away his attention.

The game was starting.

Charity games rarely had adequate staff, and there were very few adults helping out tonight, so it was Butters’ job to do the coin flip at the start of the game. While Butters was occupied in briefing the shorthanded staff members, Stan took the opportunity to step out of line with his teammates and approach the bench, where Kyle was sitting with his arms crossed.

At Stan’s drawing near, Kyle gave him a bittersweet smile.

“Dude,” Kyle shook his head, taking the helmet from Stan’s hands, “What’re you doing? You gotta wear this.”

“The game hasn’t started yet!” Stan snatched it back, securing it firmly around his head, “Besides, we’re supposed to take them off for the national anthem.”

“She sang it beautifully, didn’t she?”

“I don’t know. I guess,” Stan shrugged.

Kyle gawked, “Damn. You finally got over Wendy. Finally! It only took, like, what? Eight years? Good for you!”

“Thanks,” Stan smiled, his heart tickled by Kyle’s excitement. The fluorescent yellow jersey Kyle wore was tacky and disgusting, but its brightness illuminated his face better than the stadium lights did, giving him a glow that made him look more alive than he had in a week. He really did look excited, his discomfort with being a towel bearer pushed aside. Stan could almost say that Kyle looked happy, and that “almost” was a beautiful sight to see.

He accidentally stared.

“You good, dude?” Kyle raised an eyebrow.

Stan blinked, “Sorry. I just-... Do you know where Kenny is?”

“Yeah actually. He bought seats up close. See?” Kyle turned over his shoulder and waved up to the seats, where a blonde in an orange parka sat in the front bleacher. Kenny gave Kyle a hyper wave, grinning excitedly.

It almost felt normal. They were all here, excited, almost happy. But it wasn’t right. Something was wrong.

Stan scanned the seats for a certain Canadian creep, but couldn’t spot him anywhere. He frowned. He had a feeling that Ike would show up, and that gut-driven intuition had yet to leave his system. Kenny had told him he would look for him, but Kenny didn’t seem to be doing much of anything besides eating snacks and keeping an eye on Stan and Kyle.

“Stan?” Kyle asked, noticing his disposition, “What’re you thinking about?”

Stan scanned the seats once last time before returning his gaze, “Nothing. Just that this is going to be a good game.”

“Damn straight,” Kyle squeezed Stan’s shoulder, “I have faith in you, okay? Do your best out there. You’re going to get better.”

“I am,” Stan agreed.

From behind him, Stan heard a ref blowing the whistle and the players starting to jog to their positions. It looked like North Park was on offense first, meaning Stan would be on the safety position for the first few runs. He saw his teammates waving him over, calling his name, so he gave Kyle a good-bye wave before slipping in his mouthguard and getting into position.

He could feel the faux grass between his gloved fingers and it brought him a spurt of reassurance that he didn’t know he needed.

Stan was nervous; he was usually never nervous on game nights. He knew this was going to be a good game, but there was still some lurking feeling that he couldn’t brush off. He had total confidence that this game was going to be good for both himself and for Kyle, but something about all of this still felt… off.

Over his shoulder, he could see Kyle sitting idly on the bench, watching him with that same eager anticipation everyone else in the audience did.

He snapped back into focus when the countdown timer started.

This was no time to work himself up. Kyle was right there, he wasn’t moving. He was going to be fine. He was going to sit there, deal out towels, and be okay the whole time. Stan would make sure of it.

For now, he just had to focus on the game.

He heard the familiar  _ smack _ of the other quarterback snapping the ball down the field, and he felt a smile form around his mouthguard. This was going to be good.

* * *

_ “Shit! Ow!” _

“What’s the matter with you, McCormick?”

Kenny’s jaw dropped open at the voice. It couldn’t be.

He whipped around to see Ike Broflovski descending the bleacher seats, moving to sit next to him in the front row. He was dressed way too nice for a high school charity game, and his face carried that ever-present stoic, somewhat bored, expression as he sat down and crossed his ankles.

“Dude,” Kenny guffawed, “I, uh. I didn’t know you would be here.”

Ike rolled his eyes, “Yes, you did.”

“Maybe a little bit? I was sorta just thinking you would, but I didn’t know for sure...” Kenny forced a shrug, trying to swallow down the suspicion rising in the back of his throat. He was used to Ike’s remoteness by now, he accepted that it was just part of his personality. But something about his presence was extremely off-putting today. Ike was as nonchalant as ever, but he carried with him a perplexing bout of confidence. Looking at him now, Kenny couldn’t help but think back to the conversation he had in Stan’s living room, when he and Stan both agreed that Ike was onto something, and that perhaps he knew something that they didn’t know.

“What? Cat got your tongue, McCormick?”

Kenny tilted his head to the side, “Pardon?”

Ike rolled his eyes again, “I asked what was the matter with you. You said ‘ow.’”

“Oh,” Kenny laughed, shaking the slushie in his hands, “Brain freeze.”

Ike picked up an empty cookie wrapper disgustedly and dropped it to the ground, wrinkling his nose, “You certainly have a lot of food for just yourself.”

“Three reasons for that, my dude,” Kenny took a sip of his slushie, despite the awful, icy pain it gave his head. He winced, but recovered, “One, my stomach is literally a black hole. Two, I figured that at some point, either you, the fatass, or somebody else I know would show up, and I wanted to be the nice guy and share. Three, I got a lot of food in case the Kylie-B got hungry. I wanna be able to provide for him if he needs it.”

Ike frowned at that, “I knew he would be here. But I’ve searched every seat in the house and I couldn’t find him.”

“That’s ‘cause he ain’t in a seat, dude,” Kenny pointed to the field, “Lookit the bench. See the little ginger? There he is.”

Ike’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the boy on the track bench. They were viewing him from behind, the field just ahead of him. He sat with his legs crossed like a child, a limp towel hanging pointlessly from his hands.

Kenny watched as Ike’s dark eyes brewed over, their stare intensifying.

“So Marsh wanted to keep him within his personal reach,” Ike grimaced.

“Ding ding ding. You got it,” Kenny raised his eyebrows sarcastically. He finished off his slushie, and then took a swig from a jug of soda, “I dunno how Kyle feels about it. I doubt he’s having fun handing out towels to a buncha sweaty jockstraps. But everything’s been going really smoothly this whole game.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, actually,” Kenny burped, pounding at his chest, “We’re not even close to halftime, but we’re already ahead by fourteen, thanks to Stan. He’s been a beast out there, dude. It’s like nothing’s changed for him. He’s still the star player, like he-- _ Woop! _ There he is! Look, look at him go!”

Just as Kenny pointed it out, down the center of the field, Stan was  _ bolting  _ with large defensive linemen at his heels. They were coming on top of him, mere seconds away from tackling him to the ground, but Stan tucked the ball around his chest, rolling to safety at a yard line before they could lay a finger on him. The crowd erupted into explosive cheers, and for good reason; they weren’t even in the fourth down, but Stan already managed to push the team as far as they could possibly be to the endzone.

“He. Is.  _ Good,”  _ Kenny twirled the ice around in his drink, “Hey, doya want anything to eat, Ike? Cotton candy? Pretzels? I got pretty much everything from concessions, so I got plenty to share, dude.”

“Eh, I’ll help myself,” Ike muttered haphazardly. He picked up an untouched energy drink before returning his attention to the field, “I wasn’t referring to the game. I want to know how  _ they’re _ doing.”

He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to, Kenny knew.

“Pretty okay, actually,” Kenny paused before he added, “From what I can see.”

“Hm,” Ike methodically took a sip from the can.

“Y’know, I thought with the Kylie-B on the field, Stan would get real distracted and hurt himself or something. But as you can see,” Kenny pointed to the scoreboard, “He’s doing great! We knew this game would be good for him. We think it’ll help him focus and think better and stuff, and I think it is!”

“Does he know I’m here?”

Kenny tilted his head in contemplation, “You know, I don’t think he does. You sorta showed up late. And he hasn’t looked our way since the game started, so prolly not.”

They both watched as Stan took a few seconds to approach Kyle at the bench. They were still in the middle of the game, the timer was counting down, but Stan nonetheless took the time to jog all the way across the field and greet him. He bent down to his level, smiling, and talked to him a little.   
From the distance and the various background noises, it was impossible for Kenny to know what he was saying.   
Then Stan gave Kyle’s shoulders a light squeeze, before jogging back to his position just in time to snap the ball and rush back into action.

“I’m not convinced,” Ike said, watching the quarterback like a hawk.

“Oh, he just does that in between downs,” Kenny casually explained, “He runs over to check on Kyle. I think his teammates hate it, but I mean, come on. It’s not like they’re gonna stop him. Plus, out of context, it’s kinda adorable.”

“But we’re not out of context,” Ike reminded bitterly.

Kenny sighed, “Right. But that’s about all Stan’s done today, just check on him. He’s said a few weird side comments, but that’s about it. Stan looks happier and healthier than he has all week, though, so that’s a step in the right direction.”

“And how’s Kyle?” Ike asked, getting right to the point.

Kenny bit the inside of his cheek. He should have known that Ike didn’t give a damn about Stan’s state of being, only Kyle’s.

“I dunno,” he answered honestly, feeling guilt flood his chest, “I wish I could tell you straightforward, but I don’t think there’s a single answer to that question.”

“Hm.”

Kenny watched the kid next to him for any signs of emotional intrigue, but Ike was just as reserved as he was moments ago. Even at the mention of his older brother, Ike was aloof, but still carried that reserved confidence that Kenny speculated about.

It was strange to say the least. But regardless, Ike was still Kyle’s brother and he deserved to know about his well-being. So Kenny had to tell him.

“For one thing, I think he’s happier,” Kenny started to stress-eat from a bag of circus peanuts, “He has a lot of confidence in Stan, which is cool and all, but not realistic. Kinda sad, actually. So I spent the night at Stan’s yesterday to keep an eye on ‘em. They’re okay. Stan doesn’t, like...  _ bruise _ him anymore, from what I could see.”

“What has Kyle been  _ doing _ all this time outside of school?” Ike asked, clenching a fist around his drink, “He hates taking absent days. It’s so unlike him.”

“Sleeping. I was only there for a night and a day, but I didn’t see very much of him, ‘cause he was upstairs asleep,” Kenny spoke while chewing, “To be honest, I’m real scared for him. He seems happier, but it just doesn’t seem right. He ain’t lookin’ so hot.”

“Is that so?” Ike looked back to his brother on the bench, frowning, “His backside is toward us. I can’t see his face.”

“Oh, we can fix that,” Kenny took one last mouthful of circus peanuts before wiping his hands on his shirt. When his hands were clean, he brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

Kyle turned around at the sound, his face lighting up at the sight of them. He waved a ‘hello.’

Kenny blew a kiss and winked.

But Ike didn’t respond at all. His expression didn’t even shift. He just went stiff in the spine, and that was it.

When a whistle was blown and a flag was thrown down, Stan approached the bench yet again, Kyle turning to face him and give him a towel.

When he was sure Kyle wasn’t looking at them anymore, Kenny nudged Ike’s elbow and demanded, “Dude. The fuck is your problem? Why didn’t you say hi?”

Ike didn’t answer his question, “He’s too thin. He looks even worse than when I last saw him.”

Guilt was eating away at Kenny’s heart again.   
All of a sudden, he felt ashamed for gorging on so many snacks while one of his best friends was down there, unable to eat.   
He should have just pulled out his e-cigarette.

“Did you witness evidence of Marsh starving him while you were at his house?” Ike asked, his tone entirely too calm for the extremity of what he was asking.

Kenny crumpled up the empty peanut bag in disgust, “Nah. But he’s enabling the Kylie-B’s eating habits, so it’s just as bad.”

“So Marsh  _ is _ starving him.”

“I, uh. No, I don’t think he is.”

“He is. Just in an unorthodox manner. But it’s starving nonetheless,” Ike took a sip from his drink, “If a child is playing with a gun, but the parent does nothing to stop him, eventually, the child is going to pull the trigger and hurt himself. But it’s nonetheless the parent’s fault for allowing it to happen, wouldn’t you agree?”

Kenny’s gut twitched. How was he even supposed to respond to that?

“Stan’s not-” Kenny fumbled for the right words, “Stan’s not  _ neglecting _ him. Not like Kyle depends on him or anything like that, the Kylie-B is a  _ person, _ he can look after himself.”

“No, he can’t.”

“Ike…”

“He can’t.”

“S-Stan- He- Stan’s just being stupid, that’s all.”

Ike shrugged, “I’m only saying that it’s Marsh’s fault my brother isn’t well. I’ve never seen him--or  _ anyone _ for that matter- look like that.”

There was a sickening truth to Ike’s words, and it didn’t sit well in Kenny’s stomach.

He took a deep breath before confessing, “So, like, I don’t know how much you know about me. But you know I was abused growin’ up, right?”

Ike looked at him skeptically, “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just-” Kenny ran his hands through his hair nervously, “Me and my brother and sister were abused. I got beaten on a daily basis. I swear there were times that our parents forgot to feed us for, like, almost a week straight. I almost got hospitalized for malnutrition or some shit like that. For years, until I moved in with the Scotches, I was the weakest kid in school. And even then, I-...”

“You what?”

“Even then, I  _ never _ looked as bad as the Kylie-B looks now…”

“Exactly.”

“What’s ‘exactly’ s’pposed to mean?” Kenny asked, suspicion creeping up his spine. His stomach started to feel queasy; he couldn’t yet grasp the reason why, but he could easily guess it was because of Ike’s eerily calm demeanour. It was like the kid was empty in his own remoteness.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ike shifted his drink to his other hand to look at his wristwatch.

“That’s a fancy lookin’ watch,” Kenny said, just for the sake of having something to say, “Looks expensive.”

“It is.”

Kenny was about to ask him something, but then he noticed commotion on the field. The North Park team called a time-out, the players and understaffed refs crowding together in a huddle centerfield.

“What’s going on?” Kenny asked, feeling stupid for having not paid attention, “Did someone get hurt?”

“No one got hurt,” Ike muttered, not even looking up from his wristwatch.

Kenny watched in morbid confusion as a North Park player jogged off the field.

“Well, a dude just left.”

“They’re only switching players,” Ike explained, sounding bored.

Just as the words left Ike’s mouth, there was a movement on one of the benches of the North Park side. Another athlete slipped on a helmet and made his way to the front linebacker position.

Kenny couldn’t help but notice how huge this guy was. It was hard to believe that this guy was a high schooler, he was  _ massive. _ He looked like an adult, really. He was several inches taller than everyone else, and at  _ least _ one hundred pounds heavier. In Kenny’s opinion, this player looked like Bluto from the Popeye cartoon.

“That’s weird as fuck,” Kenny muttered.

He expected Ike to respond, but the Canadian paid him no mind. He finished off his energy drink and then stood up, dusting off his hands, “Well, I suppose I might run into you another time, McCormick. Farewell for now.”

“Waitaminute,” Kenny shot up, “You’re leaving?”

Ike stopped, “Yes. And?”

“Now? But, like, now?”

Ike looked at him strangely.

Kenny could feel himself start to get anxious. His hands went clammy and cold when he weakly said, “But-... we ain’t even to halftime yet.”

“That’s quite alright with me. I have no interest in football,” Ike sneered, “Especially if everyone is only here to glorify Marsh.”

“But you can’t leave now!” Kenny exclaimed, genuinely surprised at the great desperation in his tone.

Ike wasn’t moved, “Why can’t I leave?”

“Well…” Kenny tried to think, “Well, you haven’t even spoken to Kyle yet. I’m sure he might still be a lil’ mad at you, but come on, you know how soft he is for you. I’m sure he’ll wanna see you. Don’t you wanna see him?”

“It’s okay. I’ll see him later.”

“Wait,” Kenny shot up from his seat, “What’s that mean?”

Ike paused, looking at him condescendingly, “I think you know what ‘later’ means. You’re not  _ that _ incompetent.”

“No, no,” Kenny scrambled, his mind whirring, “It’s just- Whaddya mean you’ll see him later? Like, are you going to Stan’s house soon?”

“Something like that.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“When’s soon?”

“Soon. Adverb. It means ‘in or after a short time.’”

“How short is a short time? Why are you visiting Stan’s house? Does he know?”

“I doubt he does.”

“Does Kyle know?”

“He will.”

Kenny suppressed the urge to shudder. He was anxious down to the tips of his fingers, fear wracking his entire body. Something about this conversation was so off-putting that it was terrifying.

“Ike,” Kenny stood from the seats, approaching him with caution, “What’re you planning, dude?”

The creep took too long to respond. He stood there in the aisle of the arena seats, his hand rested on a pole, as he looked down at Kenny from a higher stairstep. His eyes were so dark that they looked black when their gaze penetrated Kenny’s soul, burning deeply into the stare.

Kenny allowed himself to shudder now. Ike was staring like a dead body.

“McCormick,” Ike said, his voice crisp and even, “I give you my word that what I’m planning is for the greater good of both my brother and Marsh. Everything will tide over just fine.”

Kenny’s gut twisted with dread, “Ike, no one’s-... No one’s gonna get  _ hurt, _ are they?”

“I can’t predict the future, so I can’t answer that question with confidence.”

“Are you gonna hurt Stan?”

“No. I won’t.”

“Wha- What about Kyle?” Kenny asked, his anxiousness rising with every second, “Is- Is the Kylie-B gonna get hurt?”

“If he is, it would be Marsh’s fault. Not mine.”

Kenny felt terror seal his throat, but he managed to squeak out, “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

Ike gave one last long look to the field, eyeing his brother on the bench. It was impossible to read what thoughts were passing through him, the dark shroud of his eyes masked all emotion. When he stared for a little too long, he pulled away.   
He gave Kenny a curt nod, “See you later, McCormick.”

And just like that, Ike turned around and ascended the stadium steps, passing the unnoticing audience, until he was completely out of Kenny’s line of vision.

Even though Ike was gone, his eerie presence remained. As Kenny stood there, all alone among the crowd, he was mute with terror. Anxiety stole his words. He couldn’t speak. He was in a complete state of panic, and worst of all, he still didn’t know  _ why. _

Ike didn’t solve any mysteries, he didn’t answer any questions. He was still this uncanny enigma looming in the shadows, and his words echoed atrociously through Kenny’s racing brain.

At the sound of violent screaming, Kenny’s attention snapped back to the field.

Three football players lied cowering on the grass, moaning and gripping their injuries as their teammates surrounded them in panic. One of them was a North Park athlete. The second was the Bluto-like player. The third one was Stan.

Stan hunched over on the ground, his back arched, as he clenched the sides of his head, madly digging the mouth of his helmet into the ground.

Kenny was numb with shock. He knew that stance. He had seen it too many times.

“Shitfuck… Not again…”

* * *

Stan felt like someone shut off the lights.

Which… was weird, to say the least. He had been outside, hadn’t he?

Outside or not, everything in Stan’s line of vision went black when he felt a major blow at the side of his skull. When his vision returned, he found himself hunched over on the grass, his breathing chaotically disordered, and a blaring pain in his head.

There were people all around him, surrounding him from every angle, and it made him nauseous. He was encased on all sides, his vision swimming. Some images of the people blurred together in his wavering line of sight, creating a disgusting vision of blurs and spots. Stan felt like he was going to throw up.

He buried his helmet into the ground, wrapping his arms around his head, to try to get himself stabilized.

He felt another pair of hands grab onto his helmet and gently tug it off. The mouthguard slipping from his mouth, Stan finally allowed himself to raise his head. He saw Kyle sitting there in front of him, pushing Stan’s helmet to the side, and clasping his head in his hands.

Stan couldn’t hear very well. He felt like he was sitting in the bottom of a bell jar, sounds were reverberating off its surface, but they were disordered in a way that Stan couldn’t understand them. He couldn’t make out the exact words, but he heard Kyle ask someone for a phone.

The next thing he knew, Kyle was shining the phone flashlight in his face.

“Stan?” Kyle asked, his voice finally rising above the cacophony around him, “Stan, look at me. Look at my hands. Can you follow my finger please?”

Stan squinted. He couldn’t see a finger. He could only see the light. It was practically blinding him. He winced after staring at it too long.

“Shit,” he heard Kyle mutter, frustration written everywhere all over his freckled face. He turned to an assistant ref on his side, “Can you get the paramedics over here, please? I think he has another concussion.”

“No paramedics on charity games, they only work during the real season,” the assistant ref sighed, “We barely have any adults in the whole house, too. We have to deal with this on our own.”

“Shit,” Kyle muttered again, looking utterly miserable, “God damn, this is all my fault. I pushed him to play. He probably didn’t even want to play, but he pushed himself for my sake...”   
Kyle lifted his gaze guiltily, his green eyes destitute with regret, “I’m sorry, Stan. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Why’re you sorry?” Stan asked, before flinching at the sudden jab of pain from his head.

“What’re we gonna do?” the assistant ref asked, looking between the two.

Shakily, Kyle stood up from the ground, saying, “It’s okay. I got him.”

“Are you sure you’re qualified to take care of him?”

Kyle glared, his eyes brimmed with tears, “He’s my best friend. He’s my responsibility.”

“Kid, no offense, but you look like you need a paramedic more than he does.”

“It’s okay,” Kyle trembled, scarily close to crying, “This isn’t the first time. I’ve done this before.”

Stan blacked out again, and when he came to, he felt several sets of hands help him stand up, his brain clouding for a few seconds. When his vision was clear, he saw that he was being walked toward the locker rooms, various people with unrecognizable faces helping him stay upright.

Kyle was talking to them, giving them instructions, but his speech was distorted and jumbled that it made Stan nervous. Was Kyle still sick? Why did he look so sad and weak?

Not two seconds later, Stan was gasping for air.

He had the breath knocked out of him when he felt cold water slam into his bare backside. He was sitting down in the locker room shower, dressed in nothing but his boxer briefs, as icy water pelted down on him from a showerhead, making him squirm, and writhe, and gasp under the arctic current.

When he caught his breath, he shuddered out a sigh of relief, the cold water washing away all of his tenseness. He was confused, disoriented, but at least now he was cooling off.

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Kyle asked, seated on a stool inside Stan’s shower stall.

Stan could tell from the echo off Kyle’s voice that they were alone together in the locker room, the only other sound being the pitter-pattered smacks of the shower.

Kyle wasn’t wearing the jersey anymore, just a morbidly oversized sweater and a frown. He sat in a slouched position, far enough away that he couldn’t get wet, but close enough for Stan to see the absolute heartache on his porcelain face.

“Kyle?” he asked, feeling his gut twist, “Why’re you so sad?”

“You got hurt,” Kyle said, “I know ‘cause of your head that I’m not supposed to ask you too many questions, but, dude, do you remember what happened to you?”

Stan paused, the water raining down on him from above.

“I got a concussion,” he answered. The only reason why he knew this was because he was in the locker room showers, wearing boxer briefs, while Kyle sat down next to him playing caretaker. This wasn’t an unfamiliar scenario. They do this every time he gets a concussion. He didn’t remember much, but he remembered that, at least.

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Kyle shivered, “I never meant for this to happen to you. I thought tonight was going to be good for you. I never meant-” he held back a sob, bringing a hand to his forehead, “-You only played for my sake, didn’t you? Damn it, this is all my fault. I’m sorry, Stan, I’m so sorry.”

Stan was paralyzed against the tiled floor, his anxiety climaxing as Kyle held himself together by a mere thread right in front of him.

“S-Stan, you stay here,” Kyle tried to be commanding, but it came across as begging, “Stay here and cool off, okay? I’m going to go find someone to drive us to Hell’s Pass.”

“No.”

Kyle went still, “Stan?”

He couldn’t understand why, but there was this memory burning in the back of his mind absolutely forbidding him to go to the hospital. He didn’t know what it was or why he was thinking it, but he couldn’t go to the hospital. He was going to lose something--he was going to lose  _ someone- _ if he did.

“No hospital,” he quaked under the icy shower, “No. I can’t- I can’t go. I- No hospital.”

A lump rose in Kyle’s throat, “I- I guess you’re right… They can’t really do much for a concussion. They tell us the same thing every time, don’t they?” he shivered again before standing from the stool, “Stay right here. I’m gonna go get someone from the audience to drive us home.”

“Kyle, you can’t go home. You don’t want to go home.”

Kyle went still, holding onto a wall with his shaking hands, “I won’t go to my house, okay? You and I, we’ll both go to your house, not mine. Is that okay?”

“I can’t let you get hurt.”

Kyle winced uncomfortably, “Dude, I know that. You say it every day. I’m not getting hurt, I’m just going to get you some help. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re my super best friend.”

Stan didn’t know why, but all of a sudden, Kyle sobbed again. Except this time, he didn’t hold back. It was a guttural, anguished sob that wracked his whole body.

Stan’s throat clenched. What had he done wrong?

“‘m gonna be right back… One minute, Stan. One minute,” Kyle managed to squeak out, before limping out of the locker room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Stan stood up to chase after him. But he stood too quickly, making his head spin, and immediately slipped on the wet tile.

He fell to the ground with a  _ smack, _ his knees scraping against the hard ground. He yelped in pain, but fought through it.

Stan’s head was jumbled, his thoughts disjointed and disconnected. The only thing he could be sure of was that he wanted his super best friend by his side. Kyle was somewhere out there, languishing, miserable, and all by himself. Stan needed to be there beside him.

He managed to rise from the floor, leaning onto the walls for support. When his vision cleared up again, he found a door and went through it, slowly but surely walking his way down the familiar hall of the locker room.

At least, it  _ should have been _ familiar.

As Stan walked down the hall, he found himself lost. His surroundings didn’t look familiar at all. He was most definitely in a locker room of some kind, but it wasn’t his. The walls were a different color, and the lockers weren’t the same decorated ones his teammates owned.

His suspicions were confirmed when he saw a North Park jersey on the ground. There were various cleaning materials scattered about, and an unused electric cord coiled up in the corner. 

He must have somehow stumbled into the visitors’ locker room. He stared around confusedly. How the fuck did he end up in here?

“Oh my god, it’s  _ you.” _

Stan whipped around to see a boy about his age standing across the room. He cringed as he looked at the stranger, noticing his malformed, injured face. It looked like one of his cheeks was completely missing, and his nose and forehead were wrapped up in bandages.   
With the kid’s one unbruised eye, he gaped in fear at the sight of Stan.

“Fuck,” he said with a slurred speech, “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _ I would’ve never taken the job if I knew  _ you _ would be here. Why’re you here? Shouldn’t you be out playing?”

Stan’s eyes narrowed when he stared at his facial injuries.

The sight of them ignited something inside him, sending a burning, flaring pulse of energy through his body. In his heated fury, Stan couldn’t remember this person’s name. But he remembered  _ enough. _

He remembered a party, and the way he was holding Kyle close, even though it risked making Kyle sick.

He remembered Clyde saying something about groping Kyle.

He remembered zip-ties and bloodied hands.

He remembered Kyle crying and screaming in the chill of the night.

Kyle crying. Kyle wasn’t a crier. But he was still out there, right at this moment, crying and searching the audiences for a ride home. Kyle didn’t even want to go home.

Stan balled his dripping wet hands into fists and stepped closer.

“Listen, man,” the kid backed up against the wall, “I don’t know what your problem is with me, but you better back off! You’re fucking lucky I didn’t press charges, but I will if you try anything again! So step off right now!”

Stan grabbed the nearby electric cord and walked in closer.

“Hey, I’m sorry I kissed your boyfriend, alright?!” he was backed up against the wall now, nowhere to turn, “Or- Or your friend! Was he a friend? A boyfriend? I don’t know, man, I’m sorry!”

Stan started uncoiling the cord in his hands, drawing in even nearer.

“I couldn’t help myself!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs, “He was just a nice kid, and fuck it, he was fucking cute, alright?! And he was  _ sad!  _ He was trying to have fun, but he was so sad, and I felt so bad for him! So I kissed him, alright?! I’m sorry! Just get the fuck away from me!”

Then it happened.

Stan blacked out again.

He felt a sharp pain in the side of his skull and everything went black. He could hear an ear-piercing ringing in the back of his subconscious, and he could hear nothing else.

But he was still conscious.

Or at least, partly conscious. He could have been in limbo for all he knows.

Stan couldn’t see, or hear, or even  _ think, _ but he could  _ feel. _ He could feel the intensity of his hands working around the coil, working around flesh. He could feel himself pulling, tugging, wrenching, using the strength of ten men. There was something twisting inside his grip, something squirming to get away.

But he wrestled back, wringing, bending, and pressuring. He could feel his temples throb angrily, water from the shower dripping down his body as he stifled with every ounce of tenacity his hands could muster.

He didn’t stop until he felt the flesh in his grip go cold.

It was only then that he could see again. When his vision returned, Stan looked down to see that he was holding the limp body of the boy from North Park High, the electric cord wound tightly around his neck. He stared ahead with dead hazel eyes, unflinching, unmoving, his mouth slightly hanging open, red blood painting his lips. His face was blue but his body was practically grey as it hung from Stan’s arms, limbs dangling inertly.

Stan pulled away, flustered and thrown. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling very cold, still dripping wet in nothing but his boxer briefs. He shuddered, cold and confused, before walking out of the visitors’ locker room.

When he made it outside and back into the arena, he hissed at the sudden light and noise, the ringing in his ears angrily ceasing. He felt a searing jab of pain to his head, and he cried out, raising his arms to hold it.

“Stan! How did you get out here?”

Stan brought his arms back down at the sound of Kyle’s voice, feeling a burst of overwhelming happiness. He actually started laughing. He was laughing with the immediate joy, seeing Kyle rush up to his side.

“Oh my God, Stan, how did you get all the way out here?!” Kyle asked worriedly, “You were supposed to be in the showers. Oh God, look at you. God, you must be so confused. Stan, do you even know where you are?”

As soon as he was close enough, Stan wrapped Kyle in an embrace, pulling him close against his bare chest. He could feel Kyle’s heightened heartbeat flickering against his ribs, and it made Stan hug him tighter.

“I missed you,” Stan whispered, pressing his face into Kyle’s hair.

Kyle bit his lower lip, but he didn’t pull away, “Stan.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Football game,” Stan muttered, his lips pressed against the red curls.

“Okay… So at least there’s that,” Kyle said breathily, pulling back from the hug, “Dude, I’m real sorry about your head, and I’m sorry that I had that little meltdown in the showers. I should’ve been strong for you, dude.”

“Stop apologizing. I hate it.”

“Okay…” Kyle licked his lips, “I’m- We’re gonna go back to your house now, okay? You need to rest up.”

“Can I go with you?” Stan asked worriedly, absolutely mortified of the idea of having to part from his side again.

“Yes. Yes, dude, we’re going together. I found us a ride. Leslie’s driving us, okay?”

A bead of water dropped down Stan’s face when he tilted his head to the side. He looked just beyond Kyle’s shoulders to see Leslie erect by the arena’s exit, one arm akimbo as she gave Stan a reserved glare.

Her stare threw him off-balance, and he found himself bewildered once again.

Stan sneezed.

“Bless you,” Kyle said, “God, Leslie, we have to get him out of this cold. He’s practically naked, and dripping wet… Shit. He’s gonna catch a cold if we don’t move fast.”

“I can move fast,” Leslie said, drawing in nearer. She gave a pointed look to the cast around Kyle’s ankle, “But can you?”

“Hell no,” Kyle admitted. His brows furrowed slightly, stress practically reeking off of his body. He gave an aggravated groan before submitting, “You know what? Leslie, just take him to your van. He needs to get out of the cold. I’ll catch up with you, just take him.”

She looked Kyle up and down.

Stan froze. Did Leslie just-?

She gave a weak nod, pressing her lips together, “Sure thing. I know you’re stubborn, but don’t rush yourself.”

“I’ll try,” Kyle said with just as much surrender as Leslie had.

Stan swallowed. He reached out to touch Kyle, but Leslie took his arm and linked it with her own, leading him out of the arena with a quick pace.

Her other arm was out of a sleeve now, but was still wrapped up in a yellow and pink cast. She didn’t look him in the eye once during their quick-paced commute to her van, she kept her head upright with a firm determination that Stan had never seen in her before.

When they made it to her van, Leslie got Stan into the back row and shoved a bottle of water in his hands.

For some reason, her aggravation made Stan laugh.

“Testy,” he smirked.

She growled, working her way to the driver’s seat and igniting the engine. The van gave a few clicks, before the engine roared and the air conditioning spewed into action.

Her irritability reminded Stan of Kyle. He found himself smiling at a few rushed memories of times when Kyle would rant about everything for hours on end, how he would quarrel with Cartman even though he knew he would lose, and how he would complain not because he was upset, but just because he loved to complain.

Stan laughed out of sheer happiness again, “Kyle was good for a bit.”

Leslie turned around in her seat, “Do you want to run that by me again?”

“Today. On the field. And with me. He was giving orders. Being bossy. He likes to do that,” Stan’s smile turned into a frown, “He was good for a bit. Then he just… gave up.”

“Stan, I doubt you can even understand what I’m saying, but there’s something I really think you need to know. And you’re sitting there in your underwear, dripping wet in the back of my van right now, so I think I have the right to tell you,” Leslie’s tone was even but firm when she pressed forward, “You’ve started a war, Stan.”

Okay, now he was  _ sure _ he had a concussion. He swore he just heard Leslie say that he started a fucking  _ war. _

Stan laughed again.

She glared at him now, “Girls versus Boys. You started it again. Except this isn’t like the fourth grade, this time, it’s serious.”

Stan giggled like an idiot. Her words were ludicrous, but on the slight chance they were true, they certainly confirmed why Wendy and Bebe were giving him such harsh looks earlier tonight.

“The boys all think you and Kyle are just having a rough patch in your relationship. And to an extent, I think that’s true,” Leslie lowered the volume of her voice, but not the intensity, “But because they all worship you on the field, you’ve tricked the boys into thinking you’re doing nothing but bickering like a married couple. But the girls and I know it’s more than that.”

“Hm. What’s more?” Stan asked, all of a sudden forgetting how to open his water bottle.

Leslie snatched it out of his hands and opened it for him, “I hate to say it, but I don’t know. There’s so much evidence, but I can’t connect the dots just yet. I don’t know what you’re-” just as she was handing the bottle back over, she stopped.

“There’s blood on your hands,” her mouth dropped.

At first, Stan couldn’t see what she was talking about. Then, he shook his head to clear his vision, taking in that his hands were dripping not only with water, but also with something red.

“Why is there blood on your hands?” Leslie asked, eyes wide.

Stan paused. Why  _ was _ there blood on his hands? When he tried to think about where and why this could have happened, his mind drew a blank. He couldn’t remember anything.

“I got a concussion,” he ended up saying.

Leslie pursed her lips nervously, “Yeah, well, I got a concussion, too. Three weeks ago when I was hit by a bus. My hands didn’t bleed.”

Stan tried to think harder. He tried to remember the last time he saw blood, and an image of tight plastic ties flashed through the back of his mind.

“Zip-ties?” he guessed, though he wasn’t sure if that was the right answer.

Leslie gawked, “Wait. Wait, hold on. Did you just say  _ zip-ties?” _

Stan frowned. Was that the wrong answer?

Before Leslie could interrogate him any further, the other side door opened, and Kyle slid in the backseat next to Stan.

“Sorry for the wait,” Kyle told Leslie, out of breath, as he clipped in his seatbelt.

“Don’t apologize,” Stan snapped, “I hate it.”

Both Kyle and Leslie paused for a moment.

“Okay, Stan. I won’t,” Kyle said, before turning to the girl in the driver’s seat, “Les, thanks so much for this, really. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. I owe you one.”

“No, no, it’s no big deal,” she was still a little shaken, but she urged, “Hey, Ky, why don’t you come sit up in the front with me?”

“No, it’s okay,” Kyle helped bring the bottle of water to Stan’s lips, “I should stay back here.”

“Are you  _ sure?” _ Leslie was desperate, “I’m sure he’ll be fine, just sit up here with me? Please?”

“No, it’s cool. Really.”

Leslie didn’t seem convinced. But she turned around and buckled her seatbelt anyway, “Where to?”

“Not the hospital,” Stan bucked forward.

Kyle assisted him back against the seat, “Not the hospital. Stan’s house.”

“We’re just dropping him off?” Leslie asked, shifting the van’s gear into drive and driving it out of the parking lot, onto the main road.

“No, I’ll be staying with him,” Kyle screwed the lid of the water bottle back on, “The first hour or so is always the roughest. He should be functioning semi-normally after that, but he still needs someone with him.”

“Then why don’t we just stay for the first hour, and then you come back home with me, Ky?” Leslie offered, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

“No, it’s okay. I want to help him, he’s my best friend.”

“But he-”

_ “-Shit!” _ Kyle cried, taking Stan’s dripping wet hands in his own, “Stan, why are you bleeding? Did you scrape yourself or something?”

He remembered the shower, and how he fell, scraping his knees on the tile.

“Yeah,” Stan answered, not failing to notice Leslie glaring at him from the mirror.

Kyle groaned, strain creasing into his features. He was overworking himself with stress, but that didn’t worry Stan in the slightest. Burdening himself with tautness was something integral to Kyle’s character. He had a habit of catastrophizing everything, it was just one of his personal ticks.

So even though Kyle was tensing up pitifully, Stan smiled, because it meant Kyle was demonstrating his true self again.

Stan laughed with glee.

Leslie and Kyle shared a glance.

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to come home with me, Ky?” Leslie implored, the van shifting a little in the lane, “We have a guest room. My parents won’t mind. They won’t even care that you’re a guy, I’ve-” she stopped herself, clearing her throat, “-I’ve told them a few things… about you.”

“I’m not suicidal,” Kyle said, not even making eye contact with her.

“But-”

“-I’m staying with Stan.”

The words were music to his ears. Not only was Kyle retaliating, fighting back, being himself, but on top of  _ all _ of that, he was standing up for Stan. He was defending him, just like a super best friend should.

Stan laughed again.

That finally shut Leslie up. She didn’t make another utterance the entire drive back to Stan’s house. When she parked the van in front of his driveway, she turned around to look at the redhead.

“Ky, if you need anything- Anything at  _ all, _ I can-”

“-Could you call Kenny for me?” Kyle interrupted, helping Stan with unbuckling his seatbelt, “Or text him, or dm him, or whatever. Let him know that we’re here and we’re okay. I sort of lost him in the chaos. I don’t know where he went.”

Leslie seemed disappointed, but she nodded anyway, “You got it.”

Kyle finally managed to get Stan’s seat belt off, and then turned to face the driver, “Thanks, Les, really. I’m not gonna forget this.”

“Dude, really, this is nothing,” she pleaded, “I just wish I could do more. I really miss you.”

Kyle had to strain himself to not look at Stan, “Les, this isn’t the place right now.”

Leslie, however, did not hold herself back from shooting an ephemeral look at the quarterback. She sighed, “I know.”

“Okay,” Kyle patted Stan’s shoulder, “I’m gonna get this big lug inside. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“I guess,” Leslie said.

She took a breath, before leaning in to kiss Kyle on the cheek. Chastely. In a humble, unobtrusive manner, she went to kiss him on the cheek, as friends do.

But he stopped her before she could, turning his face away, green eyes casted downward in shame.

Leslie pulled back worriedly, “Ky, I wasn’t going to do anything. I don’t like you like  _ that,  _ I only-”

“-Just don’t,” Kyle swallowed, “Just- Just don’t. Please. You’ll just make it harder on both of us.”

The words made Leslie recoil. She was aghast for a moment, before she narrowed her eyes sharply at Stan, her jaw clenched tightly.

She was trying to be intimidating, but Stan could only laugh at her.

Kyle sadly smiled at him, “Everything’s funny, huh, Mr. Funny Pants?” he turned to Leslie, “He’ll be fine. The first hour is usually like this. He’s already doing better, I swear.”

He opened the side door, “Come on, Stan. Let’s get you inside.”

Stan slid out of the van with ease, finding that he was already starting to gain some confidence in his walking. Through the driver’s side window, he could see Leslie fighting to make some kind of eye contact with Kyle, but the redhead was deliberately ignoring her. He got out of the van on shaky feet, said a small thank you one last time, before leading Stan up the porch steps while Leslie drove off in her van behind them.

Kyle was struggling to walk well, so Stan wrapped an arm around his waist to help him… which was ironic. It was difficult to tell who was helping who, and which one of them was the sick one and which one was the well one. Maybe they were a combination of both.

When they approached the front door, Kyle noticed the broken lock for the first time. He gagged, his throat lurching, his body hunching over, as if he were about to vomit.

“Kyle?” Stan panicked.

Kyle fixed himself, straining to brush it off, “No, I’m fine. Let’s go in.”

“Okay,” Stan said as softly as he could. He ushered Kyle inside with his arm, before closing the door to the world behind him, protecting himself and Kyle from whatever lurked outside, and sealing them with whatever lurked inside.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm finally back! I worked extra hard on this one, I hope it's okay ;-;
> 
> After this one, there's only one more chapter to go! Thank you for sticking with this story for so long, I cannot stress how much I appreciate it.  
> I predict that the final chapter can be expected in between 5-7 days. No guarantee, but that's my best bet :)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: violence, pinning, implied/referenced past suicide attempts (though it's just a brief detail)

As always, Kyle was right. The first hour of Stan’s concussion was the worst.

After he managed to buck through the giggle phase, Stan had his nose to grindstone with the searing head pains. They didn’t subside for about an hour, an hour he spent sitting down in the shower, Kyle right there at his side, giving him easy quizzes to test his brain.

After eating a nutrient-dense meal and taking a nap, Stan was starting to think clearly. He could only remember bits and pieces of the football game, and unfortunately, the few images he could remember were practically insignificant. But at least now, he could remember his middle name and he knew the difference between a plate and a bowl. And he took comfort in knowing that he would gradually remember more and more as time went on, so he didn’t let it bother him.

It was pitiful, but he knew to be so calm because he’s done this several times before. He didn’t even remember what number concussion this was.

But he was feeling better, and he took comfort in that.

When he woke up from his nap, it was just after midnight. With a yawn and a few good stretches, he went downstairs to see Kyle relaxing on the sofa. At Stan’s approach, Kyle shot up from the couch with a surprising amount of energy.

“Stan!” he greeted, “How do you feel?”

Stan smiled at Kyle’s concern. It warmed his heart. It was supposed to be the other way around; Stan was supposed to be the one looking after Kyle. But the redhead’s defiant insistence to care for his friend proved just how much he cared, and Stan loved it.

“I missed you,” Stan smiled, going in for a hug.

Kyle returned the hug, but repeated his question in a cautious, slow manner, “I asked how you felt, Stan.”

“Feel good,” Stan replied, burying his face into the side of Kyle’s head.

Kyle was just the right size for this. He was shorter than he should be for his age, but he was just tall enough for Stan’s chin to rest perfectly atop of his head, and he was lean enough for Stan’s arms to reach all the way around his sides as he held him close.

“That’s great,” Kyle praised, allowing the hug to continue for Stan’s sake, “Pop quiz. What’s five times three?”

Stan hesitated for only a second, “Fifteen.”

“Good job. Looks like your head is starting to clear up a bit,” Kyle said. He pulled back from Stan’s arms, but Stan latched onto him and pulled him back in.

“Not yet,” Stan said, hugging him tightly.

Kyle looked to the left, submitting, “...okay.”

Stan leaned into the embrace, assuaged by the feeling of Kyle’s ribs from beneath the bulk of the varsity sweater, and wonderfully ameliorated by the mere fact that Kyle was actually hugging back.

Stan had gone way too long without touching him. After Kyle confessed his sensitivities with physical contact, Stan had put in his damned best effort to avoid grabbing him and to keep his hands to himself. Like a dog, he had diligently followed that rule he made for himself all the way until now. He deserved it now, didn’t he? He certainly held himself responsible long enough to earn at least a little comfort.

This was nice. Holding him was nice. This was the way it should be. This was, after all, the way it always had been.

When Stan was consumed by the darkest depths of his depression, he reached a point so low that therapy did nothing for him. His late-middle school through early-high school years were overwhelmed with solitude, alcohol, and self-harm. His family had done little to help him, too; his dad and sister had barely cared and his mom had been just as depressed as he was that she couldn’t help him if he tried. School friends barely affected him too; not even Kenny or Cartman’s attempts to help reached him.

But even at his lowest point, Kyle was there with him.

His entire life, Kyle was the one to cast out the lifesaver to a damsel in distress, even at risk to himself, so it was no surprise that he was more determined than anyone else in town to get his best friend back on track. Being the stubborn little bastard he was, he never gave up. He fought, and he fought, and he fought until Stan got better.

He answered all of Stan’s calls, replied to all of his texts, even at insane hours of the night. He let Stan confide everything in him--even horrible, gut-wrenching things that Stan was too afraid to tell his own therapist- and he held onto those secrets like a safebox. He made himself present every time Stan needed him, even cutting class on occasion, just to be there at his side.

Kyle, the school-savvy student whose dream it was to have perfect attendance for all twelve years, cut class for his best friend’s sake too many times to count.

Through Kyle, Stan was able to find a strength he couldn’t find in himself. He found a wall to bounce back off, a reason to get up again when he fell.

Kyle had been there to replace his beer bottles with water bottles. He had been there to turn on the lightswitch when it was time to drag Stan out of bed. He had been there to talk him out of every suicide attempt, and he had been there to hold his hand when things got scary.

Kyle had always been there. And Kyle would always be here; Stan would make sure of that.

“Do you wanna do something?” Kyle offered, breaking Stan’s train of thoughts.

He rested his cheek against Kyle’s red curls, “Like what?”

“Anything under the sun, dude,” Kyle shrugged into the hug, “Just as long as neither of us strain ourselves.”

“TV?”

“It rots the brain, Stan,” Kyle chuckled softly, “I don’t think you need any more of that right now. How about a game? We could play a game.”

Stan’s stomach growled, “We could eat.”

“Didn’t you just eat an hour ago?”

“Yeah. But I’m hungry. And so are you,” Stan said doubtlessly. Releasing the hug, he took Kyle by the wrist and took him to the kitchen to get something to eat.

Kyle simply followed like a lamb. Stan could tell that he was holding onto some reserved emotions for Stan’s sake, but he pretended to be oblivious.

Stan opened the fridge and peered through its contents, “Wanna make a salad?”

One of his wrists still in Stan’s hold, Kyle wrapped his free arm around his stomach, “Um. Aren’t vegetables, like, the hardest food group to digest?”

“I’m going to have a salad,” Stan shrugged, taking various vegetables out of the crisper drawer, “What do you want? Broth?”

Kyle gave an embarrassed nod.

Stan let go of his wrist now so he could move around the kitchen, collecting salad-making materials and grabbing a box of chicken stock along the way. When he went to look for a knife to slice the lettuce, he found himself lost and confused. He paused.

“Stan.”

“Hm?” he looked over his shoulder.

“Other drawer,” Kyle pointed out.

“Oh,” Stan felt embarrassed, too, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kyle said, sitting down in a chair at the table, “It’s not your fault you have a concussion. It was number 86’s fault. That gorilla-ass dickhead shouldn’t have been playing. He looked like he was held back in school for at least twenty years. I want to go beat up that asshole, I swear.”

“No,” Stan swallowed a lump in his throat, knife poised in his hand, “You’d hurt yourself.”

Kyle sighed, resting his head on his hand, “I know. But a guy can dream, right?”

Stan didn’t answer. He started to cut up the vegetables, satisfied by the way the action of slicing and portioning was training his brain to focus. He organized the vegetables by size and color, everything in his head clicking together to make sense just nicely. This concussion seemed like it would have a quick recovery. He was already starting to feel a lot better.

All was well in the Marsh household until the phone rang. The high-pitched noise assaulted Stan’s ears, making his head hurt. He brought his hands to his ears and whined, wincing at the searing jab at the side of his skull.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kyle soothed, he got up as quickly as he could and limped over to the living room to retrieve Stan’s phone.

But Stan stopped him before he could get too far. He held out his arm, halting him, “‘s not my phone.”

“What?” Kyle asked.

With the sound breaching his ears and his head pounding violently, Stan struggled to piece together what he was trying to say, “I remember… the sound. ‘s different. That’s not my phone, ‘s the home.”

Kyle was quick to catch on, “Oh, that’s the home phone ringing?”

Through his pain, Stan managed a nod. Kyle rewarded him with a pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’ll go answer it. I don’t want you to get strained or stressed or anything,” Kyle said, “You go back to your salad.”

When Kyle picked up the phone from the kitchen wall, Stan was washed over with immediate relief. The noise was gone, and he could think clearly again. He contentedly returned to portioning his peppers, slicing them perfectly to avoid the seeds in the middle.

Kyle stood leaning against the wall, the receiver in his ear, as he listened to the speaker on the other line. He stood that way for only a few seconds before Stan heard him click the phone back in its place.

“That was quick,” Stan pointed out.

“Yup.”

“Who would call at this hour?” Stan asked, remembering that it was just past midnight.

“Ike.”

Stan dropped the knife against the counter.

Kyle paid him no mind. He limped out of the kitchen into the living room, where he started to search around the couch cushions and under the pillows.

Something about the action sent off alarm bells in Stan’s head.

“Kyle,” he followed him into the living room, wariness settling in his gut, “What’re you doing?”

“Ike only called to tell me one thing,” Kyle said. He found the television remote wedged between two couch cushions and pried it out before explaining further, “He told me to turn on the news.”

Before Stan could stop him, Kyle aimed the remote at the screen and pressed the power button. He flipped through a few channels before finding the local news station, where a female anchor was midway through a sentence.

_“-at the South Park High arena. Authorities have yet to reveal the student’s name considering that he is a minor, and will not release it until a cause of death is confirmed. Investigators suspect suicide, following an assault that landed on him during a party a week prior, but the local police department is still on the case, after having received an anonymous tip on extra details. As for the suspected suicide itself-”_

-As the spokeswoman went on speaking, an image of a young man filtered onscreen. A perfectly handsome young man. He had suave dark skin, tanned elegantly by the sun, and a pearl-white smile as he looked at the camera. His eyes were hazel and complimented his dark hair well, under the lighting of a professional photo, dated a few months prior.

He didn’t have a single blemish on his body.

And Kyle recognized him.

Kyle had to sit down on the sofa, covering his hand with his mouth as he stared up in horror at the screen. He shook his head slowly, sadly, his teeth starting to nervously chew at the fingers over his mouth.

“Dude,” Kyle let out a strangled whisper, his eyes glued to the screen, “I fucking knew that guy...”

Stan couldn’t bring himself to comfort him on the couch. He stood where he was in the kitchen, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“He was the guy who danced with me,” Kyle said through the side of his mouth, his words muttered and malformed, biting down on his fingers, “God… _suicide._ That’s just awful. Oh God, that’s terrible. And in such a public space, the poor kid…”

“Kyle,” Stan said, not knowing what else to say.

“Shit, we were literally dancing together, we were kissing, he seemed _happy,”_ Kyle was now gnawing and biting on his fingers almost feverishly, “God, if I had known he was going through shit I would’ve helped him. He never said anything to me about what he was going through. If I had only _known…”_

“Kyle,” Stan snapped with intensity now, “Don’t hurt yourself. Stop it.”

The redhead took his hands away from his face guiltily, “Sorry…” he sniffed, “God, that’s just awful. What do you think happened to ‘im, Stan?”

The question flew over his head, “Hm?”

Kyle sniffed, wiping his nose, before he repeated what he asked with more caution, “I asked what you think about all of this.”

“What do I think?”

“Yeah,” Kyle absentmindedly started to chew on his pinky finger, not even realizing he was doing it, “B-But don’t strain your head thinking or anything, I was just wondering. This is so sad.”

Stan looked up at the TV screen, where they were now showing images of an electrical cord.

“I _think_ that suicide should never be people’s first assumption,” Stan said, “It doesn’t do the person any courtesy.”

Kyle looked at him peculiarly.

Stan shrugged, “I’m just saying. You gotta respect the dead, right? Give ‘em a little dignity. Don’t rule it a suicide until you have proof.”

Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but then the woman onscreen said something that snared away his attention.

_“-ody was found in the visitors’ locker room in between ten and eleven at night. As stated earlier, authorities are still investigating, but if you have any information, you are urged to call the number listed below-”_

“Wait,” Kyle froze. His green eyes were darting back and forth over the screen in vehement contemplation.

“Kyle, what’s wrong?” Stan allowed himself to enter the living room now, opting to take a squat on the floor in front of him.

“Stan, you were outside the visitors’ locker room when I found you,” Kyle muttered, nibbling on his fingers in a panic, “Did- Did you hear anything? See anything? I know with your concussion, your senses were probably numbed out, but did you-”

“-Kyle!” Stan reached out and grabbed him by the wrists, jerking his hands away from his mouth, scolding, “I said don’t do that. Stop it. Right now.”

Kyle winced at the pressure exerted on his already-sensitive wrists, “Sorry.”

Stan let out a strained sigh, “For the record, I didn’t hear or see anything at all. I don’t even know how I ended up over there.”

It was just then that Stan realized Kyle wasn’t even paying him any attention. He was looking peculiarly at Stan’s hands wrapped around his wrists, scrutinizing his palms.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asked.

“Your hands were bleeding.”

Stan tilted his head to the side, “They were?”

“You said you scraped them,” Kyle said. He slowly, methodically took his wrists out from Stan’s grasp and turned Stan’s hands over in his own. Stan watched as Kyle gaped down at his smooth, unmarred palms.

“Kyle?”

Kyle pressed his hands to his forehead, desperate in his attempts to hold himself together, “You didn’t. I swear you didn’t. You couldn’t’ve. You- You’re unwell, you’re upset, but you’re not- You’re not capable of-... _that._ You- You’re a good person, Stan, you’re a good person…”

The redhead was working himself up now. But Stan could tell that he wasn’t stressing himself out in the way he normally does, the way integral to his character. Instead, he was overwhelming himself in a terrified tremor, his mind and body both agitating in intensity.

In the back of Stan’s mind, he remembered the observation he made a few days ago, how he had noticed that Kyle’s emotions were an oscillating ebb and flow that took direction from Stan. He had observed that when Stan was angry, Kyle went compliant, and when Stan was happy, Kyle was ecstatic, and etcetera.

That gave him a tenuous idea. In spite of Kyle’s present strain, Stan forced himself to smile. He made himself look mirthful, smiling from ear to ear and going relaxed in his body language, hoping Kyle would take a hint and become happy himself.

“Kyle, don’t strain yourself like that,” Stan soothed as pleasantly and lightly as he could, “You’re stressing yourself out. Stop it. I don’t like it.”

Startling Stan to the core, Kyle did not respond the way he anticipated. He did just the opposite. He drew in on himself in a panic, staring at Stan with wide, lily-livered eyes.

“Kyle,” Stan strained himself to smile even more, holding onto Kyle’s arms to urge himself further, “Why’re you freaking out? You’d better stop.”

He could feel Kyle trembling in his hold when he muttered, “Stan, please tell me you didn’t. Please, please tell me you didn’t. I’m- I’m just paranoid, right? I’m just hysterical. I’m just hysterical. You didn’t- You didn’t actually-”

“-You’re hysterical,” Stan confirmed, smiling so wide that his cheeks were aching, “You’re hysterical, you’re stressing yourself out, and you should be happy right now.”

“Happy?” Kyle’s breath hitched on the word, “Why- Why the _fuck_ should I be happy, Stan? Give me one logical reason why I should be happy right now.”

Stan thought again about how Kyle’s feelings were supposed to reflect whatever he wanted.

“Because I told you to.”

“...”

“...”

With little warning, Kyle’s throat lurched. He gagged twice, his body convulsing forward several times.

Stan knew what was going to happen. He leaned forward, trying to comfort him, but Kyle wouldn’t take it.

He shot up from the sofa with speed Stan didn’t know he possessed. He rushed past Stan and made straight for the bathroom, vomiting the contents of his entire stomach into the toilet.

When Stan cautiously approached, he didn’t fail to notice the horrible red color that tinged the rivers of stomach acid as Kyle retched again, his feeble frame lurching forward.

“Kyle,” Stan almost choked on the name, “You-... I think you must have torn some lining in your stomach. You’re bleeding… From the inside.”

When Kyle finished his convulsing, he leaned over the toilet like a dangling puppet on strings. He coughed a little, wiping blood and bile away from his face with the sleeves of Clyde’s sweater, before a shudder wracked his entire body.

“I warned you…” Kyle said so softly he almost whispered it.

“Kyle?” Stan stepped in closer.

“I fucking warned you, Stan,” Kyle whimpered, a watery drop of blood rolling down his chin. He wiped it away in shame, “I warned you that I couldn’t take any more. That- That if you did one more thing like _this,_ that I-...”

Stan reached forward to comfort him, but Kyle pulled away.

 _“Don’t,”_ he cried, pressing against the bathroom wall, “Don’t touch me, please! I’m- I have to- I can’t stay here. I have to leave. I have to go home.”

Bewildered and heartbroken, Stan shook his head, “No, you don’t.”

“I have to go home, Stan,” Kyle shuddered, “I want to go home. I- I’m going home. I’m not staying here.”

“-Kyle, you can’t go home. You know what they’re going to do to you there.”

Kyle wrapped his arms around himself, “I don’t care. I’m going home. I want to go home, I-” he sobbed, ducking his head in shame, “-I want my mom, Stan.”

Stan was mortified. He stared at Kyle with his eyes wide, his gut clenching. Kyle wasn’t acting right at all, and that worried the hell out of him. He felt the pace of his heart beating speed up because of worry alone.

Kyle made a move to step past him, but Stan stuck out his arm to block him.

Kyle shook his head in agony, “Don’t do this, dude. I thought you were better than this! I really thought you were getting better!”

“Kyle, you’re so confused,” Stan said, his heart breaking as the words left his mouth, “I’m so sorry, I really thought your confusion healed up. I guess it didn’t. But you can’t go home. They’re going to abuse you, Kyle, you can’t go home!”

“It’s safer there than it is here!”

“How? I’ve never hurt you!”

“You fucking delusional brute! Yes, you have! Many times, damn it! I excused it ‘cause I thought you were getting better, but you just-! You just keep getting worse and worse!”

“The same can be said about you, Kyle!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Kyle screeched, his hoarse voice breaking as anguish martyred his whole body, “You think I don’t know how sick I am?! I’ve only kept quiet for your sake! I tried to be selfless, ‘cause I thought I owed you! I thought since you were being selfless for me, I could be selfless for you, like super best fr-”  
-His rant was disrupted by a rack of coughing. He threw himself over the toilet in preparation, but he didn’t throw up, he just coughed painfully.

Stan approached him now, despite Kyle’s warnings to stay away. He wrapped his arms around the unbruised safe spot of Kyle’s back, holding him as he heaved phlegm and blood into the toilet bowl, his eyes watering.

When Kyle’s coughing fit ended, he lifted his head shakily, “B-But you were never selfless, were you? Y-You were only ever _selfish_. This whole fucking time, you were- you were just trying to keep me.”

“Safe,” Stan corrected, locking his arms around him tighter, “I was trying to keep you _safe._ And I still am.”

“No, you aren’t. Everything only gets worse the more time I spend with you, dude,” Kyle grimaced, his voice wavering, “Not just for me. For you, too. You- You’re sicker than I am, Stan, and that’s fucking saying something.”

“I’m not sick,” Stan swallowed, “You’re sick.”

“You _killed_ somebody, Stan.”

Stan wrapped his arms around him tighter.

“You- You killed somebody…” Kyle gagged, “Oh God. God. HaShem…”  
Kyle let out a guttural sob, and then proceeded to pray for daat and teshuva in Stan’s hold, the only word Stan understood being the word for God; “HaShem, HaShem, HaShem, HaShem.”

“Kyle?”

“I-... I never knew you were capable of doing that, Stan. I never would’ve guessed. I’ve spent my whole life with you and I never would've... You- You’re a friend to everybody. Everybody _loves_ you, Stan,” Kyle trembled, “Why- How could you do something like that?”

Stan tried to answer, but his throat was sealed shut.

So Kyle spoke, “He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He could have hurt you.”

“You hurt me.”

“...I don’t.”

“How could you think that, dude? How could you _possibly_ even _begin_ to think that?”

“Because I love you. I love you. I can’t hurt you.”

“...Let me go. I’m leaving now.”

Stan locked his arms tighter around him, pressing his knees down against the backs of Kyle’s legs to pin him to the floor, “No.”

Kyle spat in Stan’s face, his saliva tinted red with blood.

Stan wasn’t intimidated in the least. He just let the disgusting substance roll down his face as he held his ground, “I’m not letting you go back there.”

Kyle strained to get up under Stan’s exerting pressure, but made little progress.

Stan had him completely pinned. He could feel Kyle struggling to break free, and it broke his heart to know that this pitiful skirmish was Kyle at his best. He was so weak that even as he was directing all of his strength into escaping, he was doing next to nothing for himself.

It occurred to Stan that if Kyle keeps physically tormenting himself this way, he’s eventually going to hurt himself more than he already has.

So in an act of gracious pity, Stan let him up from the ground.

When Kyle could stand, he wrestled himself out of Stan’s arms and tried once more to run out of the bathroom.

But again, Stan stopped him before he could. He was willing to stop Kyle from paining himself, but he was not willing to let him imprison himself back at the Broflovski household.

He knocked him down to the floor, watching in satisfaction as Kyle slammed down against the hardwood, his hands doing nothing to break his fall.

But he knew that Kyle was still as stubborn as a mule, he knew he would keep on fighting, so it didn’t surprise him when Kyle started to scramble across the floor, half crawling, half running, as he struggled for the front door a dozen feet away.

Stan yanked him back by the boot around his broken ankle, “Kyle, stop fighting and just get back here! I’m not going to let you get tortured there!”

Kyle whipped around on the floor, trying to pull himself in the other direction as Stan tugged on his boot. His wrangling doing practically nothing for him, Kyle called out in a desperate plea, “I’m not going forever, just- just let me go now! I’ll come back, okay?! I’ll get you the help you need and come back when you’re better! Just let me go now!”

Stan gave another pull, Kyle’s body easily sliding across the floor toward him, “Stop it! You’re only going to hurt yourself!”

 _“Stan!”_ Kyle cried. In a moment of frenzy, Kyle unbuckled the latches around his boot, freeing himself so the lighter cast was the only thing around his ankle. Then he scrambled to the other side of the room, pushing aside the front door with the broken lock, and tumbling down the porch steps and down the driveway in a disordered attempt at escape.

Just as Stan caught up to him, he deterred. He watched as Kyle, ailing and straining from the physical exertion on his poor body, swayed back and forth as he struggled to stand. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted backwards.

Stan caught him before he could hit the sidewalk.

It was a temporary blackout--the kind of vertigo experienced simply by too much sudden exertion- and Kyle’s eyes fluttered open seconds later as he gasped for air. When he looked upwards to see that he was once again being held in Stan’s arms, he uttered a pitiful groan, his brow furrowing in frustration.

“I hate this fucking body,” he muttered, nostrils flaring.

Stan felt his stomach do a somersault, “Kyle…”

“I hate this stupid, sickly body. It makes me such a problem child. Every day, I can feel it dying around me and I hate it. I hate my body. I hate it. I hate it. I-”

-Stan shoved his hand over Kyle’s mouth, “Shut up! Stop that!”

“Kyle?”

The sound of Ike Broflovski’s voice carried through the cool air, catching Stan completely by surprise to see him standing at the edge of his driveway, confused and disturbed by the sight in front of him.

If Stan didn’t know any better, he would say that Ike looked just like any other little kid. He was lily-like, placid, even in his noticeable state of disturbance he seemed small and gentle.  
But Stan knew better. Out of suspicion, He locked his arms around Kyle.

But Kyle wouldn’t take it. He sat up straight in the quarterback’s arms, calling out, “Ike! Ike, where the hell have you been?”

“Home. And I think it’s about time you came home, too,” Ike replied. As he stepped in closer, the moonlight spilled over to illuminate him, a childlike expression of naive encouragement on his face. He held out his hand towards Kyle, “I’m here to take you home, Kyle. I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” Kyle said, trying to break out of his prison to take his hand, “Ike, take me home, I want to go home.”

“I will,” Ike said. But as he tried to take a step forward, Stan only squeezed his arms around Kyle tighter.

“Shit! Stan, stop it!” Kyle cried, squirming around with more intensity now. His arms were bound to his sides and his legs were useless, but of course, Kyle found a way.  
He took Stan’s hand in his teeth, biting with full force.

But Stan didn’t even flinch.

Ike seemed impressed.

However, Kyle was horrified. He tensed up in his confinement, “Ike! Ike, don’t just fucking stand there, fucking do something!”

As Ike realized that Stan was not going to let go, he backed away. He straightened his shirt, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves when he said, “It’s alright, Kyle. I don’t need to.”

“Ike, what’re you-”

“-The police are on their way. They’ll take care of everything,” Ike crossed his arms over his chest, “Oh, and they’ll actually heed to what I have to say this time. I have proof now.”

Kyle stopped wrestling, and Stan pressed his chin down on Kyle’s shoulder to hold him still.  
While Kyle couldn’t find the words to question further, Stan took the opportunity to speak up, his chin digging into the tender flesh of Kyle’s shoulder blade as he demanded, “What do you mean ‘the police are on their way?’ What are you talking about, creep?”

“I gave them an anonymous tip claiming that you were responsible for the death of that kid from uptown,” Ike said, scarily calm in his demeanour, “I also provided video footage of you entering and leaving the locker rooms directly at the time of his death. I gave them every reason to believe the truth.”

Kyle’s jaw dropped, “Ike- Ike, tell me you didn’t have anything to do with his death… Swear to God and tell me you didn’t have anything to do with him.”

“In truth, I had no idea Marsh would go as far as he did. I can assure you I never meant for him to die, but then again, it works out better for us, doesn’t it? Since now Marsh will go to prison for life and he’ll never kidnap you again, Kyle,” Ike said, ending his statement with a strange sentiment of tenderness in his tone.

His sweetness went right over Kyle’s head. He trembled in Stan’s arms, his green eyes aflame, “Ike. What did you do?”

“What I had to do.”

“What did you _do?”_

“My only plan was to get Marsh out of the picture, and you’re welcome, I’ve practically already done that. As I’ve said, the police are on their way to arrest him,” Ike was growing irritated now, his speech crisp and direct, “I didn’t do anything but set the scene for act two.”

Maybe it was because of his concussion that Stan had no idea what Ike was insinuating.

Maybe it was because Kyle was smarter than what he was given credit for that he caught on to _exactly_ what Ike was insinuating.

“Oh God,” he choked, “You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?”

Ike bit his lip impatiently, “Let me reiterate that I had _no idea_ Marsh would take the life of another. I only thought an assault would occur, and that I would gain enough footage of the event to be able to put him behind bars for a while. That’s all.”

“Player number 86, from the North Park team,” Kyle dared to charge, “He was one of yours, wasn’t he?”

“He was one of the arrangements I made, yes, among other things.”

Stan was finally starting to understand, the cogs in his brain turning little by little, “The… charity.”

Both Broflovskis looked at him expectantly.

“The charity,” Stan’s throat went so dry he thought he was about to dry-heave, “The charity was for child trafficking victims. Kenny said someone changed it last second.”

Ike shrugged, “I had to lure you in somehow. Imagine all that work going to waste if you didn’t even bother to show up.”

Stan felt Kyle hiccup in his arms. When he looked down to see if he was okay, he noticed that Kyle’s face was whiter than the moon above them. He was as pale as Banquo’s ghost, tears lining the edges of his reddened eyes.

“Ike,” Kyle’s voice broke, “You _knew?”_

A barn owl screamed somewhere in the distance.

For a moment Ike looked like he was caught off guard. It seemed as though someone finally managed to topple him off his high and mighty throne of conceited indifference. His mouth hung open, but failed to produce any sound. His obscure eyes shifted between Stan and Kyle in a strenuous effort to conjure something to say.

But that was only for a moment. He recovered soon enough.

“Kyle,” Ike started, his calm voice laced with a tenuous fear, “We can discuss that later. When we’re home, when you’re safe from _him,_ we can discuss that. For now, let us please concentrate on getting you away from Marsh.”

Stan didn't raise his protective chin from Kyle's shoulder blade as he charged, “No, I want to know, too. You knew about the pictures, didn't you? I'll bet you were in on the whole secret, huh, creep?”

“Marsh, you are seriously in denial if you think you possess the right to challenge me about my brother’s safety.”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Short-tempered, are we?”

“He’s not even your brother!”

Stan could feel Kyle hiccup again in his arms when he said in a shaky voice, “Ike, he didn’t mean it. He really didn’t mean it. Stan just- He doesn’t feel well.”

“Oh, he meant it,” Ike’s tone was as cold and crisp as the frostbitten night around them, “And you have no right to defend him. He’s a dangerous, impulsive miscreant capable of _manslaughter_ and you deserve better than him.”

Stan’s chin must have pressed into a pressure point on Kyle's shoulder blade, because seemingly out of nowhere, Kyle mewled out a pained cry, and his eyes rolled halfway backwards, before he was able to fix himself upright.  
Now weakened after the assault on his shoulder blade, Kyle swayed back and forth in Stan’s arms, “Ike, hold on… Gi’me a moment, hold on. Did-... Did you know? Did you actually know?”

Ike went frozen solid, but his silence said a thousand words.

“Son of a bitch,” Stan muttered, his grip around Kyle now stronger than it’s ever been.

Kyle gave a cough in his confinement, his gut and chest jerking forward. As he coughed, a glob of blood flew from his mouth, splattering down onto the pavement.

Ike’s stoic mask was gone. He stared with raw terror at the dark red droplets on the sidewalk. Fervent fear now bristling off his words, he urged, “Kyle, he is going to kill you if you stay with him.”  
Something in his dark eyes shifted, “Forget about waiting on the police. I’m taking you home.”

In a swift, calculated move, Ike shot forward and tore Stan’s arms away.

At his release, Kyle immediately collapsed to the ground, hunching over himself as he gasped for air.

But neither of the two noticed him. Stan fired back with a nasty punch to Ike’s gut, making him double over.

The younger barely had any time to recover before Stan took advantage of his crumpled posture, grabbing his shoulders and hurling him down against the pavement. Just after Ike was thrown down on the sidewalk, Stan reached for the gasping redhead beside him.

“Kyle, I don’t know what the hell Ike is planning, but you can bet I’m not going to let you go back to him,” Stan explained as quickly as he could, but he spoke so aggressively it must have sounded like he was yelling. He reached down to scoop him up off the pavement, but Ike intervened.

Catching Stan completely by surprise, Ike roundhouse-kicked him in the back of his knees, sending his kneecaps to collide directly with the concrete.  
The pain was so blatant and so sudden that Stan couldn't even utter a cry.

Ike didn’t soften. He rushed past Stan to his brother, yanking him up right by his armpits, “I know you don’t have a lot of strength right now, but however much you’ve got, _use_ it!”

Kyle moved along like a ragdoll in Ike’s arms, but not because he was unconscious.

No, Kyle looked more awake than he had in a week or longer. His green eyes were wide open as if he had been slapped into focus, their gaze flitting in between Ike and Stan, a painfully overwhelmed look on his face.

Stan knew what that look meant, and he didn’t like it. It meant confusion. Kyle was in a heightened state of perplexed panic; he didn’t know who of the two he was supposed to go home with.

Stan strained himself to reason, “Kyle, you can’t seriously be confused right now! You _know_ you have to stay with me. You can’t go back to him!”

“You’re wrong, Marsh,” Ike snarled, tugging Kyle away down the sidewalk, “You psychopathic, manipulative _fuckwad,_ you’ve damaged him to the point where he can barely function! If he’s confused, it’s your fault!”

“You’re a creep!” Stan reared, ready to hurl a punch at Ike, but he stopped himself out of fear of hitting Kyle--whose body directly blocked Ike’s.

“Right, _I’m_ the creep,” Ike somehow managed to roll his eyes, even during the severity of the moment, “Even though I’ve never kidnapped, bruised, cut, starved, or brainwashed him, _I’m_ the creep!”

Kyle was glancing in between them wildly now. Stan could see his narrow chest rising and falling rapidly, his entire body shaking as he struggled to breathe, Ike tugging him down the sidewalk all the while.

Stan felt his heart lurch at the sight, “Ike, you’re scaring him. Let him come back to me. I’ll take good care of him.”

Ike actually laughed. He laughed madly, wildly, tossing his head back as he bellowed, “That’s _hilarious,_ you know that?! And I thought McCormick was supposed to be the funny one!”

“Who said my name?”

When Kenny jogged up from the far side of the street, Stan didn’t get any calmer. If anything, his anxiety intensified.  
Kenny stopped in his tracks in the middle of the street, stiffening at the sight of Ike yanking his brother down the sidewalk, Stan aggressively on their heels, and Kyle on the verge of hyperventilating, his struggles to escape doing nothing for him. Kenny panicked at the sight, taking a moment to process it all.  
But he snapped himself out of it soon enough.

He was direct now, more assertive than Stan had ever seen him before, when he said, “I got a text from Leslie. She told me to stop by, said she thought Kyle was in danger and that Stan-” his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, “-What the hell is going on here? Kylie-B, you okay?”

“Do I _look_ okay?!” Kyle shrieked, the hoarse pain in his voice breaking Stan’s heart tenfold.

Ike gave another yank, “No, you don’t. And if you’re even _considering_ going back to Marsh, then you’re more ill than you lo-”

-Breaking his own rule of no-grabbing, Stan shot forward and grabbed Kyle by the square of his shoulders to wrestle him free from Ike’s hold, “He’s even sicker if he thinks you’ll give him any sympathy, Ike!”

Kyle kicked and shouted against both of them, “You talk like you’re giving me a choice in this, but you’re not!” he released an animal-like whimper when Stan resorted to pulling on his marred wrists, “You’re not! You’re not, you’re not, _you’re not!”_

Kenny went on offense now, trying to buck Ike and Stan off, “Guys! Guys, stop it! Fucking shit, look what you’re doing to him!”

Kenny managed to wrestle Ike off after punching him in the face, but as always, Stan couldn’t be pried away. While Kenny and Ike were tussling with each other, Stan hoisted Kyle up against his chest and started to run up the sidewalk back to his house.

He made it halfway up the driveway before simultaneously, all at once, he felt Ike kick his knees, Kenny slam an elbow into his back, and Kyle whack the back of his head against Stan’s jaw. It was the combined efforts of all three of them that knocked Stan down to the driveway, Kyle falling down along with him--only to be crushed and trapped in place under Stan’s weight.

Kenny and Ike, immediately realizing their horrible mistake, scrambled to pull Stan up from the pavement. But Stan wouldn’t let himself be raised up; he wouldn’t let them take Kyle away.

Taking advantage of his fallen position, Stan pinned Kyle’s entire body down to the driveway, his herculean strength bearing down on his limbs.  
When Kenny almost managed to knock him off, Stan opted to bear down on Kyle’s back, the place that he knew was already bruised beyond belief. The agonizing sounds Kyle made in response were enough to make a grown man cry, Kenny and Ike practically going ballistic in their efforts to tear Stan away from him.

Stan knew it was cruel, but he couldn’t let Kyle go away again.

They went on like that for God knows how long: Ike fighting to take Kyle away, Kenny wrangling despite his desire for peace, Kyle breaking into hysterics trying to escape, and Stan refusing to yield, all four of them screaming and assailing each other in the arctic bite of the night.

It wasn’t until Kyle started coughing up blood again that Stan allowed himself to let go of him.

But instead of immediately fleeing to freedom, Kyle curled up on the pavement, wringing and contorting over himself as he heaved up a vicious combination of blood, phlegm, and stomach acid, tears streaming down his ghost-white face.

The barn owl in the night sky cried desperately now, screeching a song laden with agony.

Kenny was at his side first. As Kyle was hunched over heaving and coughing uncontrollably, Kenny moved in to hold his hand and pin back his red hair from his face. Licking his lips in a hushed panic, Kenny asked, “Kylie? Babe, you okay?”

When Kyle only responded by gasps and hacks, Kenny turned to the others looming over him, “Guys, why’s he doing this? What’s wrong with him?”

“Marsh must have crushed his lungs,” Ike crossed his arms, “Maybe caused some internal bleeding.”

“I didn’t!” Stan cried, horrified at the accusation, “He just threw up again and tore some stomach lining!”

“You expect us to believe that? After you committed _manslaughter?”_

Kenny gaped, “What the fuck?!”

“I didn’t!” Stan shouted, “Ike set me up! He’s the one responsible!”

“Oh shit, Stan!”

“It’s Ike’s fault!”

“Right, because you can never take the blame, can you, Marsh?”

“But it _is_ your fault!”

“Didja actually, Stan?! Shitfuck, you think you know a guy!”

“Kenny!”

“Watch it, McCormick!”

“What’d I do?!”

“You guys just really hate me, don’t you?”

It was Kyle who said that. His voice was abused beyond repair at this point, so all he would mewl out was a whisper, but even despite the tooth and nail screaming and fighting, all three of them heard what he said.

“Kylie-B...” Kenny exclaimed softly.  
He had a split lip with blood dripping down his chin, but that seemed to be the smallest of any of their injuries. Still holding back Kyle’s hair from his retching episode, Kenny looked at him with wide, regretful eyes when he assured, “No, baby, no. Everyone here-” he stopped and corrected himself, _“-I_ love you. I don’t hate you, no babe.”

“I love you,” Stan said, his gut twisting and clenching, “Why would you think otherwise? Kyle, you- You’ve gotten really self-conscious lately and it’s not like you at all. Stop it.”

Kenny and Ike prepared themselves for more fighting at Stan’s harshness, but Kyle didn’t even flinch.

He just sat there with a glazed-over stare, utterly damaged and dismal, “You all hate me. I’ve done nothing but be nice to all of you, but you reward me like _this._ All it takes is a little injury and a little illness for you to treat me like _this…”_

Maybe it was due to Stan’s concussion that in that second, in the middle of Kyle’s capstone, he stopped to remember something.  
He thought back to the night Kyle came to him when Ike won valedictorian, and how he confessed that he couldn’t take much more, that one more abuse would break him. Then he remembered Kyle vomiting red-tinged stomach acid before trying to break out of Stan’s house and run away.

“Why-... Why do you _hate_ me, Stan?”

This had to be it. This was his breaking point.

Stan dropped down on his knees, still sore and bruising from the struggle with Ike. He crawled up the pavement, one hand outstretched, as he reached forward to comfort him. Kenny got defensive in his posture around Kyle, holding his hand and hair in a protective passion. But Kenny couldn’t stop Stan from gently cupping his hand to the side of Kyle’s face.

Kyle screamed.

He unleashed a horrible, agonizing, inhuman scream of fear and pain that not only overtook him, but completely consumed him. Kyle was screaming like nothing Stan had ever witnessed before, it was entirely devastating in all senses of the word; the screaming was something so heartbreaking it was terrifying, and something so terrifying it was heartbreaking.

Stan crouched there completely at loss while Kyle practically went mad with fear and hopelessness right in front of him. Even after he drew his hand away, Kyle couldn’t be settled. Kenny tried desperately to still him while Stan and Ike were paralyzed in shock.

The loud noises became too much to bear, and Stan felt a stab in the side of his skull, making him cringe in pain. But it wasn’t the screaming that induced his concussive pain, it was sirens. Stan saw a flash of red and blue, and felt a pair of handcuffs slap around his wrists. The next thing he knew, four policemen were detaining him, their combined strengths the only thing managing to hold him still. Had there been one less cop present, Stan would have been able to break free, take Kyle, and run. Instead, he was thrown in the back of a police car and read his rights for the second time this month.

Through the tinted window, he could see Ike explaining things to an officer while holding a pain in his shoulder. Just beyond him, Stan could see Kenny hopping into the back of an ambulance, the doors shutting behind him. But he couldn’t see Kyle anywhere, not at all.

And just that, only that, the mere fact that he couldn’t see his super best friend, was what broke his heart for the last time.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is ;-;  
> If you've made it this far, you're better than bubble wrap! Thank you to those who've been commenting and leaving kudos along the way :) Hopefully this ending lives up to the standards y'all deserve after all your kindness.  
> This was the longest story I've ever written, and I've definitely been put more dedication, thought, and effort into this one than anything else before. So it means a lot it's getting love, thank you <3
> 
> This chapter is a little longer than normal, but I think it was necessary to squeeze all the final details in. I hope nothing feels rushed or out of place. I did my best to give y'all a worthy ending.

They kept him in the county jail for two weeks. The  _ adult _ county jail, not the juvenile one, because of the severity of his alleged charges. Stan wasn’t officially imprisoned (though it certainly felt like it), he was only being detained until his court case reached a verdict--his court case that for whatever reason, he was barred from attending.

Even with the visitors, he was lonelier than he had ever been before, which was perplexing, because he had a healthy amount of visitors; there were plenty of lawyers, investigators, and police officers that visited him ‘round the clock.

His family visited him once. Just once. The minute they arrived back in town, they heard the news and rushed to the county jail to see him. His mom had cried. His sister had called him a turd and given him a plate of cookies. His dad hadn't even looked at him.

And that stung. The two years Randy dedicated to forming a relationship with his son, to being a good dad, we're long behind both of them. Stan had ruined it for himself, and that was devastating. He was just starting to get familiar with loving his dad, to actually having a dad he was proud to come home to, but now Randy wouldn’t even look at him.

Stan’s multiple visitor meetings never assuaged his ever-growing loneliness. It was no mystery why.

Kyle didn't visit once. His entire life, Stan had never gone a single day without seeing Kyle, but today marked the fourteenth day apart from him. The pain of losing him hurt worse than his dad walking out on him, the loss was otherworldly dismal. Kyle was his other half, he completed him, so to be without him felt like Stan was missing part of himself.

The last time he had seen Kyle was in his driveway two weeks ago, when Kyle completely broke down. He had been hysterical, borderline deranged, when he started screaming in the middle of the frostbitten night. At the time, Stan had been paralyzed in shock. He was so aghast by Kyle’s shrieking that he was incapable of processing it. Kyle had never done anything like that before, and Stan had never,  _ ever, _ witnessed anything so bloodcurdling in his life.

After repeating the scene of that night in his head over and over again, Stan still didn’t know which was scarier: the mere sound of Kyle’s screams or the look on his face as he let them go.

Stan messed him up. He knew that now. Which sucked, to say the least, because he knew Kyle hated messes. And Stan messed him up pretty bad.

It weighed down like a stone in his stomach to accept it, but he had to at least tolerate the idea of himself being partially responsible for Kyle’s unwellness. Stan did, after all, push him too far. He should have been less forceful. He should have been a lot of things, but whenever Stan tried to think about all the ways he messed up, his head hurt; there were too many screw-ups to count.

So there came a point in Stan’s detainment that he just stopped.   
He stopped regretting, he stopped feeling sorry for himself, and he stopped reflecting on where he went wrong. He was usually one to dwell on the past and hold onto mistakes, but this time he didn’t have the strength to indulge in his self-inflicted torture. He just let it go.

The only thoughts he permitted himself to have were about Kyle, and how terribly lonely he was without him.

Stan couldn't bother to be excited when a security guard roused him from his bunk to tell him he had a visitor. He simply did as he was told and followed the guard down the corridor, dressed in a prisoner's jumpsuit, his hands bound together in cuffs in front of him.

When Stan was brought into the visitation room, he saw a flash of orange.

Then he felt something other than loneliness for the first time in two weeks. He felt a spark of hope, a kindle of excitement flaring up in his chest. His breath was shortly knocked out of him as he dashed to sit in the holding chair, eagerly reaching for the phone connected to the other side.

Just as he sat down, Stan could clearly see through the glass pane that it wasn't Kyle visiting him, and his hope withered.

Kenny McCormick sat there on the other side of the window, holding the phone receiver to his ear, his other arm hanging oddly at his side. As Stan looked at the arm a little closer, he realized that it was bandaged up in a black brace.

Stan blinked. He cleared his throat before asking through the speakerphone, “You broke your arm?”

“Sprained my wrist,” Kenny wiggled his eyebrows, pretending to be happy. He stopped and corrected himself, “Well,  _ I  _ didn’t sprain it. But yeah.”

Stan looked at him closer, now noticing a cut on his lip and a bandage taped over his nose. Kenny looked really rough to say the least, but he was still making an attempt to smile.

He was quite the paradox compared to Stan; who wore a gloomy frown while his injuries were already healed. The various bruises and injuries from the fight in his driveway faded relatively quickly. Even though Kenny and Ike had been attacking him with all the strength they could, they couldn't surpass Stan’s advanced biology.

“Wanna hear something funny?” Kenny asked into the speaker.

“Not particularly.”

“Well, not really funny. More like sad-funny.”

Stan didn’t say anything.

“You almost broke my butt.”

Stan raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true,” Kenny laughed, a sad twinkle in his blue eyes, “The nurses said my tailbone was bruised so bad it could’ve shattered. So, like, yeah. You pretty much broke my butt. Good thing you didn’t see me walkin’ in here, I was limping like somebody hit the sack a lil’ too hard with me. Not that I’m a bottom, or anything, ‘cause I ain’t.”

Stan had to bite down on his tongue.

“Wanna kiss it and make it feel better?”

Stan allowed himself to laugh now. It was the first time he had laughed in weeks. The action of it made the side of his head hurt, but he couldn't help himself; even in his exhausted sadness, Kenny was too much.

As Stan finished laughing, he felt an invisible weight lift off his shoulders. Even against the depths of his loneliness and the weeks of confined solidarity, Kenny managed to work his magic and take the tension away. He was good like that, and Stan couldn’t help but appreciate it.

He gave a contented sigh and returned his gaze to meet Kenny’s through the glass pane. It was just then he noticed that he looked even more exhausted than Stan’s first impression.

Through the window pane, he could see purple bags under Kenny’s eyes and stress marks creasing his features. Kenny’s voice through the speakerphone was still sarcastic and light-spirited, but carried with it a tiredness that exhausted Stan just by hearing it. Kenny was a good man; he was sleepy and overworked, but he was putting on a false smile for Stan’s sake.

Instead of feeling endeared, Kenny's efforts made Stan feel concerned.

“Kenny, what’s wrong?” he asked, the phone receiver going cold in his shackled hands.

The blonde rubbed his nose, giving himself an excuse to break eye contact when he answered, “Welp. A lot of things. I, uh… I just got back from your trial. I wanted to talk to you about it before your lawyer or somebody else told you.”

“My trial?”

“Your court case, yeah.”

“Any idea why I wasn’t allowed into my own trial?” Stan asked, resting his head against his hand.

“They didn’t tell you, dude?”

“They don’t tell me jackshit in here,” Stan said gloomily, “I don’t even know what day it is. It’s been too long. I’ve gone way too long without seeing him.”

“Stan, Kyle’s not-”

“-Where’s Kyle? I want to see Kyle. Is he here? It’s been too long. I want to see him. He has to be here, right? Is Kyle here?”

Kenny flinched, “Let's talk about something else, dude. Don't you wanna hear about your sentencing?”

“I want to see Kyle.”

“I think you oughta know about your sentencing if nobody’s told you yet, man.”

“I want Kyle.”

“I got good news about Kyle, actually,” Kenny finally broke, all of a sudden appearing ten years older than he was.

Stan felt his heart skip a beat, “Good news?”

“Sorta,” Kenny was still searching for excuses to avoid eye contact, currently opting to feign interest in the zipper of his parka, “His, uh, his folks got arrested.”

Stan could have laughed for joy, “Seriously?”

Kenny allowed himself to scrutinize Stan now, his detective-esque gaze picking Stan apart from the inside as he said, “I’m guessin’ by your reaction you know why?”

“Kyle told me a few weeks ago,” Stan said, “But why do you know?”

“I was at his court case, too, dude. I was there for moral support,” Kenny explained, “‘pparently the day after you were thrown in the slammer, somebody sent the cops a tip and some evidence that Gerald was doing some nasty stuff and Sheila was an accomplice.”

“Oh,” Stan said aloud, suddenly feeling really stupid for just now realizing the real reason why Sheila withheld medical attention from Kyle: she didn't want to get caught. One of the doctors could have recognized Kyle’s bare backside from somewhere online. Kyle's family was never ‘protective of him,’ as Randy Marsh once implied, they just didn't want to risk someone realizing who he was.

“Yeah,” Kenny sighed, “Poor Kylie-B. Some of those photos are just-... I don’t think there’re words bad enough to describe them.”

“You  _ saw _ them?” Stan was outraged, but he kept his voice under control, knowing all too well how the prison guard standing in the corner would punish him if he went berserk during a visit.

“Only as part of the trial, dude, like I said, I was there for moral support. But yeah, they were bad. They were really, really bad. I don’t even know how Kyle-...” Kenny cringed at a memory, “A-Anyway… Gerald got eight years behind bars and Sheila got two.”

Again, Stan was outraged but controlled, “That’s  _ it?” _

“They had good lawyers. Gerald used to be one, y’know.”

“...it was Ike, wasn’t it?”

Kenny guffawed, “Their lawyer?”

“No,” Stan grumbled. He had the urge to flick Kenny on the head, “Ike was the one who sent the tip and the pictures, wasn’t he?”

Kenny looked over his shoulders and behind his back.

“Kenny?”

As soon as Kenny made sure the coast was clear, he unzipped his parka and took out something that had been hiding inside. He held a notebook, a black one with a sleek-edge design. Kenny held it tentatively, as if it were made of the most delicate glass.

Intrigued, Stan pointed to the slotted gap between the table and the window.

The gap was there so that visitors could supply inmates with small gifts. It was the same slot Shelley used to slide Stan a plate of cookies. It was small enough to ensure that no prisoner could even dream of escaping through it, but it was wide enough for just about any kind of gift to fit through.

But Kenny gave no indication that he was going to let Stan have the notebook. He hugged it against his chest, “Lemme speak first, okay? This- This is Ike’s diary. I don’t really know why I brought it, guess I figured you’d wanna know some things about the little dude.”

It took an excruciating amount of self-control to not break through the window pane and take it from him. Stan folded his cuffed hands in his lap, wordlessly begging for Kenny to get on with whatever he was playing at.

Kenny took a shaky breath, “Don't flip out, dude, but I gotta tell you something pretty shady. A few days after Gerald and Sheila were first brought into questioning, Ike disappeared.”

“‘Disappeared?’”

“Went off-grid. Like,  _ poof!  _ Gone. No word from him. Couldn’t find ‘im anywhere,” Kenny started to thumb through the pages of the notebook with his good hand as he spoke, “And I was at the Kylie-B’s house collecting his things the other day-- Don’t ask why-”

“-Why?”

“-I’ll tell you later,” Kenny found the page he was looking for, “Anyway, I was at their house and I saw this diary stashed away, so I started reading through it, thinking it would maybe say where Ike went, and, uh-... ‘pparently the little dude had been planning for a long time.”

“Planning for what? To set me up?”

“Planning for his ‘n Kyle’s escape.”

Stan’s interest peaked.

“The dude had it all planned out to gain two things in the end,” Kenny said ominously. He was speaking of such concerning subjects, but he was so tired that he almost sounded bored with it, “He wanted escape. I don’t blame him. But he also wanted revenge.”

“On me?”

“Mostly his parents. ‘pparently, while everything was going on with us like Bebe’s party, the football game, everything else, this kid was working his ass off finishing all his high school credits. He, uh, he got a job offering. There’s an official transcript somewhere in here from the government.”

Stan blinked.

Kenny went on, “Deadass. They offered him some kind of high position in a secret location. I don’t even know what for, maybe ‘cause he’s a genius? He did do that jewel heist that one time when we were kids, but it’s prolly not about that. I don’t know, but the kid got a secret job offering to work for the government.”

“So he wanted to graduate early, take the job, and leave this hellhole. Sounds great to me. The sooner he gets away from Kyle, the better.”

“That’s not all, dude,” Kenny braced himself.

“Yeah?”

“The position comes with room and board for himself and one other person of choice.”

“Kyle.”

“Yup. I think… I mean, I dunno for sure, I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but I think that was his plan: to get a job for the government and get Kyle to safety at the same time,” Kenny stopped to give a half-smile when he confessed, “I don’t even mind that part, though. It’s sorta sweet, to be honest. Two brothers living together in a protected area where nobody could hurt them.”

“They’re not even brothers.”

Kenny’s smile died in a mere second. He looked uncomfortable, but he forced himself to speak on, “Anyway, here’s where the ‘revenge’ part comes in: I read somewhere in here that Ike was gonna pay for all the expenses--you know, room, board, food, travel, compensation, etcetera- he was gonna pay for it with all the money Gerald got from Kyle’s photos.”

“He made  _ money  _ off of those?!” Stan exclaimed.

“Oh yeah. A shit ton. More than you and I are worth combined,” Kenny said, a hint of sadness in his tone, “Poor Kylie-B. I wish he’d told us about all this a long time ago. He’s just so stubborn and self-reliant… or, he  _ was.” _

Stan’s grip around the phone receiver tightened, He squeezed it so intently his knuckles turned white, “So that’s where Kyle is? With Ike somewhere off-grid where we can never find them? They just took the money and left?”

“Nah.”

Stan’s grip didn’t loosen.

“Kyle said no.”

“What?”

“Ike asked Kyle to go away with him, and he said that he didn’t want to.”

Stan blinked, “Seriously?”

“Deadass.”

Stan’s grip curled around the receiver, suspicion broiling in his gut, “I don’t believe it. I refuse to believe Ike simply asked and then walked away. He’s- He’s more forceful than that.”

“I can only guess he wanted it to be the Kylie-B’s choice to leave? That’s the only reason I can think of that explains why he never did anything to stop the abuse sooner,” Kenny prompted, “I think he wanted Kyle to be able to finish high school before he sent the tip to the police. You know how badly the Kylie-B wanted to graduate. But then there was the bus accident, and then  _ you, _ and I guess the dude had to change some plans.”

“And he told you all of this, Kenny?”

“Nah. I just read the stuff he wrote. I’m theorizin’ too, but still.”

“What does Kyle have to say about all of this?”

“Haven’t asked him. And I’m not gonna,” Kenny said sadly, “The Kylie-B has a bad habit of standing up for the people who hurt him.”

Stan shuddered, but not because he was cold. He was actually burning up from the inside, his guts writhing in angry heat, “I don’t believe it--Ike walking away from Kyle like that, I mean. I’m sorry, I just- I can’t bring myself to believe he’d do that. Do you?”

“Believe it?” Kenny hesitated, “I dunno, dude. I mean, all I know for sure is that Ike’s outta town and he’s gone for good.”

“Did he take the money?”

“I dunno. Maybe the government took it?” Kenny guessed, “At least he’s gone, though, right? He’s not gonna be a problem anymore.”

“Where’s Kyle?”

Kenny paused for a little too long, “Stan?”

“You’ve been talking about Ike this whole time, but I hate him. I want to know about Kyle,” Stan said desperately, painfully aware that his time with visitors was limited, “I want to see Kyle. Please. They don’t give me a lot of time to talk here.”

“Oh,” Kenny fumbled to put the notebook away in his parka, “Well, if that’s the case, I should tell you about your case, shouldn’t I?”

“Kenny-”

“-Okay, so the reason you weren’t allowed there was ‘cause of your concussion. I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but it sorta makes sense. ‘cause, like, you’re more likely to forget things or lie, and the lawyers could totally manipulate you in cross-examination, so it wouldn’t be fair for you to-”

“-Kenny, I don’t  _ care.” _

The blonde wasn’t even fazed. He just shook his head lazily, somehow managing to appear even older, “Lemme guess. ‘I don’t care about my sentencing. Just let me see my super best friend.’ Is that what you want, motherfucker? Forgive me for trying to be a pal, asshole. Keep in mind that I’m  _ pissed _ at you right now, but I still came to talk to you and say my fucking goodbye!”

Stan took offense. He knew he shouldn’t have been so hurt, he knew Kenny wasn’t trying to be harsh, but by a fluke, Kenny’s nonchalant demeanour and the sarcastic hue in his blue eyes hit Stan like a punch to the gut.

“Kenny, what do you mean ‘goodbye?’” Stan demanded, fighting back the urge to cry.

It was hard to stomach that this person in front of him was Kenny McCormick. Kenny, who never picked sides and always cracked jokes, was barely present in this shell of a person on the other side of the glass. This debilitated replacement of Kenny was mentally and physically exhausted. And while he had put up a good fight to ease away the tension and jest here and there, Kenny was starting to get tired--Stan could see it.

When Kenny didn’t answer, Stan tried another tactic.

“Dude,” he started lightly, “I think maybe you should think about limiting the e-cigs. You’re looking kind of unwell. No offense.”

“I’m tryna quit, actually.”

Stan felt butterflies take flight in his stomach, “Dude, seriously? That’s awesome.”

Kenny gave a tired nod.

“That’s awesome,” Stan repeated, feeling himself flush and tear up, “That’s really, really good, Ken. That’s- I’m- I’m so  _ proud  _ of you, dude.”

Kenny shrugged, “Now do you want to hear about your sentencing or not?”

For Kenny’s sake, Stan found himself replying, “Sure.”

Kenny nodded, satisfied, “You got lucky, dog. You really did. Prolly ‘cause this town would fall apart without their prodigal football son,” he swallowed before lightly saying, “You got five years in a mental institution. That’s it.”

Kenny’s attempted placater did nothing for Stan. It still struck him terribly.

“Seems like a lot.”

“It’s really not, dude. ‘cause they charged you as an adult, but you  _ still _ only got five years. They wanted to charge it murder, but had to settle for manslaughter. Got off on ‘victim of circumstance’ or ‘mental instability’ or something,” Kenny waved his hand in a devil-may-care manner, but his expression was somber.

“But- I mean… I won’t even  _ graduate. _ And like- college, I mean-”

“-You took someone’s  _ life, _ Stan. I think it’s warranted.”

Stan felt bile rise in the back of his throat, like he was going to vomit. It made him think of Kyle, and he felt a wave of guilt overcome him.

He switched the phone to his other hand, his handcuffs chinking as he moved, “Can I see Kyle, please?”

“Dude.”

“Can I please see Kyle? Please. I need to see him.”

“You don’t  _ need _ to see him, you-”

“-I do. I need him. I need Kyle.”

“Stan.”

“Let me see him. Please.”

“Stan...”

“Please.”

“He’s dead.”

“...no.”

“He’s- he’s dead. Kyle’s dead, Stan.”

“...but he-”

“-Just accept it, Stan, he-”

“-But he’s standing right behind you,” Stan whispered, his throat clogging up, as he noticed the attenuated redhead peering into the visitors’ room from the far hallway. The sight of him sent a jolt up his spine. His breath was knocked out of him to the point where his lungs were empty, but he couldn’t find the strength to try to gasp for air. Even in his disorderly panic, Stan was certain he wasn’t hallucinating, he couldn’t be hallucinating. This, the pain, the shock, all of this, it felt too  _ real  _ for him to be hallucinating. Kyle was  _ right there. _

Kenny went pale, “Shit.”   
He turned over his shoulder, wincing when he saw Kyle peeking in past the door. He stood up from the visitors’ chair and started to approach him, “Babe, why’re you here? I told you to wait in the hall. You don’t want to see Stan like this, you don’t-”

“-Why’d you lie like that, Ken?” Kyle asked hoarsely, glaring at Kenny with a subdued anger in his green eyes.   
His voice was so rough it sounded like someone had scraped a cheese grater down his throat. Like Kenny, Kyle had a fresh set of bruises, nicks, and cuts along his face from the skirmish in Stan’s driveway, and was morosely enervated. Even the anger in his eyes was decrepit as he glared at Kenny.

Kenny faltered, the shock of Kyle’s entrance rendering him nearly aphonic, “I- uh, Kyle… Kylie-B, I didn’t- I- why aren’t you in the hall? I asked you to wait in the hall. Please go back, I didn’t mean to-”

“Why would you tell him I’m dead, Ken?” Kyle charged, though his pique was doddering.

Kenny looked like a kicked puppy. He even whined like one when he said, “I just didn’t want you to see each other… He’s not okay, Kyle.”   
He made a risky move to add, “And neither are you.”

Stan pounded on the glass with his fist, desperately hoping to grab Kyle’s attention. And when Kyle looked at him, Stan swore he felt his feet lift off the ground.

But before Kyle could walk his way, the guard, who had been aloof up until now, approached the lot of them with his hands nearing the weapons on his belt.

“What’s going on here?” the officer asked cautiously, addressing all three.

Stan was first to jump the gun. He pointed to Kenny and said, “I don’t want any more visiting hours with him.”

“Stan!” Kenny cried, exasperated.

The guard remained cautious when he said, “You can file a request for that later, Mr. Marsh. For now, I think your visiting hours are done. I’m going to escort your guests off the premises.”

All three of them were terror-stricken.

“Wait! Not him!” Stan exclaimed, indicating Kyle through the glass, “I didn’t get to speak with him yet! Please, Mister, we haven’t gotten to speak to each other.”

The officer addressed Kenny and Kyle, “Can you two confirm this?”

Kyle nodded while Kenny confessed a tiny ‘yeah, but-’

“-Alright, then,” the guard gave a curt nod to Kenny, “Sir, I’m going to escort you out of the building while they get their time.”

Kenny was tongue-tied, his exhaustion not helping his desperate fight for words. He tried to dissuade the officer, but his incoherent, manic pleas were practically gibberish. He almost looked like he was crazy, begging and pleading the guard to let him stay, to leave alongside Kyle, and everything in between. But his actions were only giving the guard more reasons to take him away; he made himself look like the impulsive, trailer trash redneck everyone misjudged him to be.

When it dawned on Kenny that he had no power, he opened the pocket of his parka to frantically take out a Nicorette gum package. With shaky hands, he shoved way too many pieces in his mouth and madly began to chew.

The guard was directing him to the door, and Kenny was walking so awkwardly because of his tailbone that he couldn’t fight back if he tried. So all he did was hold out an arm and call, “Kylie-B, c’mon, sweet thing, let’s go home.”

Kyle moved to follow him.

“No!” Stan cried. He pressed his hands against the glass, “Kyle. Stay. Please.”

At Stan’s command, Kyle rooted his feet to the floor.

Kenny’s eyes went wide, “Wait, hold on-”

-The guard gave Kenny’s arm a tug towards the door, “The kid can stay if he wants to visit. But you, sir, have to leave.”

“But he doesn’t wanna visit, he’s only staying ‘cause Stan told him to! Hold on, that’s not fair!”

“Sir, don’t get excited. I don’t want to hurt you. I strongly advise you to leave the premises immediately.”

“Quit callin’ me, ‘sir,’ dude, I’m a kid! Fucking back off! Kylie-B, you don’t want to visit him! Remember what he’s fucking done! Kyle, come on, let’s leave!”

Kyle didn’t move a muscle.

Kenny’s eyes went wide as he was tugged toward the door. Through his frenzied gum-chewing, he pointed a finger and warned, “Stan, I swear on my fucking life, dude, if you touch one hair on his head, you’re dead! Okay?! I’m done sweet-talking you! I’m  _ done! _ You don’t deserve it anymore!”

The officer physically grabbed him now, taking Kenny by both arms--including the injured one- and scolding him, but Kenny managed to give one last hurrah, piercing Stan with icy-blue eyes, “Hurt him again and you’re  _ dead!” _

The guard took him out of the room now, the door shutting and locking it behind them.

Despite the guilt riding distastefully along the back of Stan’s tongue, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for Kenny.

Which was wrong, he knew that. Kenny had aged tremendously, and most of it was Stan’s own fault. But Stan couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for him. Kenny lied. Kenny told him that Kyle was  _ dead. _ He told the worst lie any living soul could ever conjure. What’s worse is that he said it for his own purpose, disregarding the wants of his friends around him--which was entirely out of character for him.

Strangely, it was as though Kenny and Kyle traded places. Kenny, who normally never gave a fuck about anything and let trauma ride off him like water off a duck’s back, was letting himself emote and enrage, meanwhile Kyle, who was previously prone to feisty fits, was stoic and submissive.

Kenny lied. Kyle was alive. Kyle was right  _ here. _

But just as the thought passed Stan’s mind, Kyle turned around to follow Kenny out of the room.

“Kyle!” Stan pounded on the glass, “Stay!”

Kyle lingered.

“Come here,” Stan said. Then he added, “Please.”

And Kyle did. He approached the chair and sat down carefully, moving stiffly in his discernable pain. He didn’t make eye contact when he grabbed the phone receiver beside him.

Stan fumbled clumsily to get his own phone to his ear, “Kyle.”

Kyle flinched like Stan was going to hit him.

Stan licked his lips nervously. Acting on impulse, he shot his chained hands through the slot of the window to grab Kyle by the wrist.

When Stan touched him, Kyle snapped his head up to meet Stan’s gaze, his eyes wide with panic.

“Sorry,” Stan said, taking his hands away and bringing them back to his side of the window, “I just had to make sure you were real. You were acting a little funny.”

Stan should have known that Kyle was going to behave this way. The last time Stan saw him, he was completely breaking down. Stan left him as a mess--and Kyle hates messes. Kyle was going to need a lot of cleaning up.

Just as Stan was starting to abate, he realized with surprise that Kyle started to  _ smile _ at him through the glass.

Instead of breaking down again or throwing himself into fits of screams, Kyle’s joy was unfolding like a flower, illuminating his porcelain face with radiance and spirit that Stan hadn’t seen in him in  _ forever.  _ It was completely unexpected, but Stan took the chance Kyle gave him and welcomed it with open arms. In fact, he  _ luxurated _ in it. He thought he would die of joy. He almost felt drunk with it, nearly intoxicated by the sight of Kyle’s smile.

Stan was so insanely happy that he was starting to scare himself, but that didn’t matter, because Kyle was here. Kyle. Kyle was  _ here.  _ And he was finally  _ happy  _ again.

“I missed you so much!” Stan puled, his heart melting, “Why’re you smiling, Kyle? Don’t stop or anything-!  _ Please _ don’t stop smiling, I love it! But why? What’s going on? You’re so happy! Oh God, you’re so happy, Kyle!”

Kyle gave a bashful shrug.

“Say something! Can you try to say something? I missed you so much, Kyle. Can you tell me why you’re so happy? I love it. I missed you.”

Kyle had to clear his throat before he said, “I- I don’t know. I guess I just- Being apart from you was harder than I thought it would be... I forgot how much I like to see you smile, dude.”

Stan whined with happiness.

Kyle paused, shifting the phone to his other hand before continuing, “I- I felt like I needed to get away from you. You, um, you got real scary, Stan. Everyone keeps telling me I should get away, too. But I just- I’ve never been apart from you before…”

“I know!” Stan groaned, kicking his feet excitedly under the table, like a bouncy little kid, “Then out of nowhere, we’re apart for  _ fourteen days!  _ It’s awful.”

“So awful. I didn’t even know what to do with myself at first, I was- I was just so confused and scared. A-And that’s so unlike me, you know?”

“No it’s not. Not recently.”

“...not recently. You’re right,” Kyle bit his lip.

Stan smiled, “I missed you.”

“...I missed you, too. I shouldn’t’ve. But I did. And I do,” Kyle was starting to look nervous, “I still do. Miss you. Really, really bad. I shouldn’t, but I-”

“-Why shouldn’t you?”

Kyle poked the glass with his forefinger, the nail of it bitten too short, “I don’t know. Well, I do know, actually, but I mean- Kenny says I shouldn’t.”

“Kenny shouldn’t tell you how to feel,” Stan said gingerly, pressing his own finger against Kyle’s through the glass.

_ “You _ tell me how to feel,” Kyle pointed out, though not accusingly. He said it meekly, refraining from eye contact, keeping his gaze pointed at their fingers nearly touching through the pane.

“Yeah,” Stan felt his heart lurch, “But that’s different. You don’t fight me, you just do what I tell you. We’re super best friends.”

Kyle crumpled like a piece of paper at that line, but said nothing.

Stan eyed him carefully, “You’re not dead.”

“No. Kenny lied.”

“Kenny wants to keep you away from me.”

“They all do,” Kyle said, looking to the left for a split second.

Stan looked to the left, too, where he saw a few pieces of Nicorrete gum littering the floor.

He hummed to himself, “So Ken’s really quitting?”

“Yeah,” a delicate smile played on Kyle’s lips, “I’m  _ really _ proud of him.”

“Me too,” Stan admitted, overwhelmed at Kyle’s smile, even though it was small. He was eating up every second of his time with him, absolutely relishing in his presence. This almost felt too good to be true.

“Yeah, he, uh, Kenny’s been chewing a lot of gum. And biting pencils. And things like that. He’s been real stressed out lately, I don’t blame him either, we’re all stressed. But he’s doing his best.”

“What finally pushed him to quit? Did the Scotches finally beat down on him or something?”

Kyle ducked his head down guiltily.

The action made Stan’s chest tighten, “Kyle? What’s the matter?”

“Me,” Kyle said with a frog in his throat, “He, um… He’s worried- No.  _ Everyone’s _ worried about-... about me. About my health. And Kenny thinks smoking around me is going to jack up my lungs or some shit like that, like he’ll make me really sick or something. I feel real bad, to be honest. Like, he doesn’t even want to quit for himself, just for me. ...and that sucks.”

Frustration kindled in Stan’s gut. It didn’t sit well with him that Kyle had been so happy only seconds ago, and now he was back to this wallowing, self-loathing, pitiful version of himself that Stan had witnessed become more and more prominent within the last month. Looking at him now, it was too hard to tell which one was the real Kyle.

“Shame on him for calling you out like that. He should’ve talked to you about it before trying to play the hero,” Stan said, hoping that siding with Kyle would assuage him, “What’s it matter if he smokes or doesn’t smoke, anyway? It’s not like you live together.”

“About that.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed.

Kyle flinched, his hands around the receiver shaky, “I, um. I don’t know if you heard, but my parents got-... arrested. They’re in jail now, and Ike’s-... gone. Ike’s gone. So, well, I was supposed to go live with my cousins in New Jersey, but I just- There’s just so much shit going on in my life right now that I can’t handle any more change. I can’t even begin to consider moving away at a time like this.”

Stan put the pieces together, “So you’re living with Kenny now.”

“Don’t be mad,” Kyle pleaded, “But yeah, I am. I got permission from the court. The stupid judge pitied the hell out of me. Looked at me like I was a carnival attraction or something.”

“Are you- Are you going to get adopted like Karen did? Or just-... you know.”

“There wouldn’t be a point,” Kyle shrugged morosely, “Even if I wanted it, by the time all the paperwork was done, I’d already be eighteen and out of the house. So I’ll just be riding it out with Ken, I guess.”

“Speaking of adopted people-”

“-Ike isn’t a creep,” Kyle said, catching Stan by surprise.

Kyle took a breath to steady himself before he went on, “I don’t think he meant even half the stuff he said in your driveway. He was probably just trying to scare you so you’d let go of me. It’s not like he could outfight you.”

“I dunno,” Stan rubbed his knees in a memory, “He kicks surprisingly hard.”

Kyle gave a phantom of a laugh, “He kicks  _ smart.  _ He can outsmart you.”

Stan laughed, too, not because he thought anything was funny, but because Kyle was laughing.

“I don’t think his plan was to set you up, dude,” Kyle went on, his voice gruff but light, “Or to get anyone killed. I think he just said that stuff ‘cause he was scared.”

“That kid is an emotional void. How can you tell if he’s scared?”

“He’s not a ‘void,’” Kyle said defensively, “He- I don’t know. He probably just has Aspergers or something. He’s smart, really smart, he just doesn’t know how to deal with other people.”

“Kyle, that doesn’t excuse anything. He knew about what you were going through and he  _ waited _ to help you. He set me up. He hurt that North Park kid. Then he just took the money made off of your abuse and then he walked out on you!”

Kyle stilled, “What?”

“Kenny showed me his diary, Kyle. We know all about the government job offering. He left you and fled to save his own creepy ass.”

Kyle blinked a few times, assessing if Stan was serious or not. Then he broke into giggles, “Holy shit, you actually believed that? Oh my  _ God, _ Stan!”

Stan felt mortified, “What- What’re you-?”

“Dude, that transcript was fake! It was a prank he shoved in his diary to scare anyone who read it!” Kyle wiped at his eyes in his exasperated laughter, having way too much fun with Stan’s confusion, “That paper’s nothing more than a fucking booby-trap, dude. I learned that lesson  _ years ago! _ Shit. You  _ actually _ fell for it. Oh my God, Stan. I swear, your IQ has been knocked down like a hundred points ‘cause of all your concussions. You’re so stupid.”

Stan didn’t know what to believe about Ike, Kyle’s statement or Kenny’s theory. Stan knew what he  _ wanted _ to believe, but he also knew that it was the less likely alternative.

Sometimes it was easy to forget they were all still kids. This was such an adult situation, and at times, it made Stan feel like he was turning into his dad. He figured that in some way, shape or form, his childhood was already long behind him, and he could only assume that Kyle and Kenny’s were, too, after everything that’s happened.

He really,  _ really _ wanted to believe it was nothing more than a prank. Kyle seemed to believe it enough. Maybe if Stan could just force himself into believing it, one day he really could...

Even despite Kyle’s delighted laughter, Stan didn’t feel any calmer, “Then where the hell is he?”

“With my cousins in New Jersey.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s away from you, but-”

“-The only reason he didn’t stay with me was ‘cause I asked him to leave me alone,” Kyle said, “I told him I’m mad at him and I don’t want to deal with him ‘til I’m okay again, and he respects that. So yeah, he left. I’m not upset. He still has his whole life ahead of him, dude, he shouldn’t waste it here.”

“You’re talking about him as if he’s a decent person,” Stan sucked his teeth.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, and?”

“You need to stop defending the people who hurt you,” Stan scolded, remembering something Kenny said.

Kyle winced, “I’ll keep that in mind...”

They were both silent for a moment, Kyle not meeting Stan’s gaze and Stan refusing to look away from him.

While they weren’t speaking, Stan took the opportunity to inspect him closer. He could see that the fingerprint-shaped bruises on his face were almost completely faded now, as was the one on the back of his skull. He had a new boot for his broken ankle, one that thankfully looked a lot easier to walk in, one that wasn’t scraped from when Stan grabbed it to hold him back from leaving. The only markings on his skin were those he got from the tumble in Stan’s driveway, minor injuries that were inevitable and would soon heal. What Stan couldn't see were Kyle's wrists or his backside, because he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

As he continued looking at him, Stan realized something miraculous.

Kyle’s clothes fit him. They fit him perfectly. He was wearing a cream-colored, slim-fitting sweater and a pair of slacks that only went down to his ankles. Stan was surprised by the femininity of his outfit, yes, but he was also astounded by the fact that it clung to him so well. His clothes actually fit him impeccably. For the first time in more than a month, Kyle didn't look like he was swimming in oversized fabrics. 

“Well, I have to hand it to the Scotches,” Stan smiled, ogling at Kyle, “It looks like they managed to get you to put on some weight. Your clothes fit you, Kyle! Good for you!”

Kyle stopped tapping at the glass, “Um. These aren’t mine.”

“What?”

“The clothes. These- They’re Karen’s,” Kyle confessed, “I’m, um. I’m wearing Karen’s clothes. I’m- um…  _ God, _ I’m wearing a _ thirteen _ -year-old  _ girl’s _ clothes and they fit me.”

“Oh,” Stan kept staring, he couldn’t help himself.

“Yeah…”

“Well, um,” Stan kept his finger against the pane, internally praying that Kyle would ‘touch’ him through the glass again, “If it makes you feel any better, these aren’t my clothes either.”

Kyle eyed Stan’s prisoner’s clothes. Stan’s jumpsuit almost looked undersized when he moved, the cheap fabric snagging against the ripples of his muscles. He guessed there just weren’t any appropriate sizes for seventeen-year-olds with godlike physiques.

Kyle didn’t look amused. He just kept looking at the jumpsuit. Stan watched as his green eyes flitted to the handcuffs around Stan’s wrists, and he heard a weak mewl catch in the back of Kyle’s throat.

“Kyle?”

Kyle started coughing. He had to put the phone aside as he hunched over himself, holding his throat as he coughed repeatedly, gasping for air.

Stan went into an instant panic, “Oh no. Oh no. Kyle? Kyle, are you going to throw up again? I can get a medic, there are medics here, you know, I can-”

-Kyle held up a hand. His coughing fit slowed to an end and he steadied himself, wiping a few tears from his eyes. He held the phone in both hands, as if he were a child, and pressed it to his ear, “N-No, no, it’s okay. I wasn’t puking, it’s My, um, my vocal cords are just a little damaged.”

“Oh no,” Stan’s jaw dropped, “Seriously?”

“Yeah. They think- They think it's permanent damage, actually,” Kyle gave a half-hearted gesture, “‘They’ being doctors.”

Stan pursed his lips.

“Yeah. Real doctors. From a real hospital. I went there. I was in the hospital for eleven days, Stan, and my body still sucks. My voice is gonna be as dry as a tumbleweed for the rest of my life, I guess. It’s all pretty hard to…  _ process.” _

Stan wetted his lips, “Did you hurt your voice when you were yelling in my driveway that night?”

“Probably. I guess. I don’t know.”

“Oh, Kyle,” Stan’s shoulders drooped, “Why do you do this kind of stuff to yourself? First the bruises, then the zip-ties, now your voice. Oh no, do you really hate yourself that _ much,  _ Kyle?”

“It wasn’t my fault, Stan, I was  _ scared.  _ I still am!” Kyle looked like he was stabbed through the heart, “What do you mean the zip-ties were my fault?!”

“You said it yourself once! You said that if you hadn’t pulled so much, that if you had just had more faith in me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!”

“I was delusional when I said that!”

“What, don’t you trust me?!”

“No!”

Stan felt like he had been slapped across the face, “You’re supposed to fucking trust me, Kyle, we’re super be-”

“-Don’t play that card!” Kyle cried, his voice belligerently hoarse, “I can’t trust you when you  _ killed  _ someone, Stan!”

Stan’s throat twisted.

When Kyle realized that he hit Stan where it hurts, he stilled to collect himself. He took a deep breath, and then said, “You did something really bad, Stan.”

Stan swallowed, the shackles on his wrists suddenly heavy and cold, “I know.”

“Do you regret it?”

“More than anything.”

Kyle was not one to be fooled. Kyle was smart. He had been dubious and gullible for more than a month, but he had broken out of it; Stan would know, after all, because he was the one who broke him.

“But you only regret it because we’re separated now, right?” Kyle asked, though by his tone, Stan was sure Kyle already knew the answer.

So Stan didn’t bother responding.

Kyle let out a slow, long breath. He leaned his elbows on the table, burying the heels of his hands into his forehead, his fingers snaring bits of his hair from around the phone receiver, “I’m so fucking glad I was hit by that bus.”

Stan stared.

Kyle sniffed, his eyes nearly as red as his hair, “It’s just- I had no idea you were so sick, dude. I really thought I was able to help you back in middle school,” he gave a sad shrug, “But I guess not.”

“Kyle.”

“-I don’t think me getting hurt started this downward spiral for you, dude, I know you better than that,” Kyle went on, “I think the bus accident was… a catalyst. Like, after it happened, you got real bad real quick. And I’m glad for that, you know? It’s weird. I’m glad we were able to catch on soon, instead of just letting you slowly get worse over time. Like, imagine if your deprogression happened minutely over the course of, I don’t know,  _ years… _ That-... That would be really scary, dude,” he wasn’t even looking Stan’s way anymore.

“Kyle, what-”

“-I mean, I wish we had caught it a lot sooner. A lot sooner,” Kyle’s eyes glazed over, “God, I wish nobody’d gotten hurt. You, Ken, Ike--you shouldn’t’ve gotten hurt. Ari, too.”

“Who’s Ari?”

“The guy you-... The boy who p-passed on. I found out his name later,” Kyle said. He hesitated a moment before he asked, “Did you know Ari’s a Jewish name?”

“So?”

Kyle’s entire body deflated, “I don’t know. Just a random fact,” he sniveled again before sitting up in his chair and saying, “Alright. So people got hurt. Your fault. Not mine. And- And so you’re going to pay the price for it, okay? You’re going away for a bit. We’re going to be separated, and it’s your fault, ‘cause you did something really bad.”

“But you’ll visit me,” Stan didn’t phrase it as a question.

Kyle didn’t even acknowledge what Stan said:   
“You- You’re going to be locked away, with doctors, and other people who’ll help you. And you’ll get better,” Kyle shuddered, “You will. You- You’ll get better this time.”

Kyle sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was Stan.

The former quarterback shook his head subconsciously, the phone receiver going heavy in his hands when he said, “You don’t believe that, though.”

Without warning, Kyle  _ slammed _ his hand against the pane, making Stan jump backwards in sudden shock.

“You don’t get to tell me that!” Kyle yelled, the edge in his voice more heartbreaking than the tears in his eyes.

Stan was at a loss for words, “Kyle, what-?”

“-You don’t get to tell me what I believe! You already tell me how to think, how to feel, how to live my own life! You’ve controlled me enough, haven’t you?!”

Stan wasn’t even scared of him. Even though Kyle was deranged and broken, red in the face, right in front of him, all Stan could feel was sadness.

“Kyle-” Stan whispered, the name meaningless on his tongue, “-You-... But that’s different, Kyle. You know that I only want to keep you safe.”

“Do you want me to live?”

The question startled him at first, “What?”

“Do you want me to have a goddamn purpose to  _ live _ and  _ go on?”  _ Kyle seethed.

“O-Of course, Kyle. Of course. Why would-”

“-Then let me  _ have this!”  _ Kyle finally let go of the cries he was holding back, tears exploding down his face in violent streams as his whole body quivered.

He was shaking like a leaf, but he kept his fiery green gaze steady, burning Stan with his agony as he cried, “Stan,  _ please!  _ Let me  _ have this! _ You’ve taken  _ everything else _ away from me, so  _ let me have this! Let me fucking believe in you!” _

Kyle broke down into sobs, curling up on the chair as his body convulsed violently. Stan could actually  _ feel _ the vibrations of his shaking through the table, his handcuffs literally chinkling at the tiny earthquakes. He wanted nothing more than to scoop Kyle up in his arms and hold him until he cried out his heart’s content. He didn’t even need Kyle to stop crying. He just wanted to protect him. He just wanted to hold him, and love him, and give him everything he deserved, because Kyle deserved so much more than what the world gave him.

But he couldn’t. There was a glass wall and table separating them, and Stan was handcuffed.

Reaching through the slot again would only lead to bad things. Stan was sure the last thing Kyle wanted right now was to be grabbed by a handcuffed inmate sentenced to a mental institution after he committed manslaughter, even though they were super best friends.

That was going under the assumption they still were super best friends. They might not be anymore, Stan realized with a perturbed feeling. Kyle might be at the point where he wanted to abandon their friendship.

But at the same time, Kyle was putting the entirety of his crippled faith in Stan’s hands, and that had to mean something, right?

Stan didn’t know for sure. The only thing he positively knew about their relationship right now was that Kyle was broken, and that Stan had an integral part to play when it came to putting him back together.

Kyle cried for minutes on end, while Stan just watched; there was nothing he could do, anyway.

When the guard reentered, Kyle was still crying. The guard tried to urge him to leave the visitation room, but Kyle was past the point of being coherent. Thank God the guard didn’t use any force on him. He was adult enough to realize that the kid in front of him was in a serious panic and he left the room, returning with Kenny.

The blonde bolted to Kyle’s side like a bat out of hell, immediately embracing him in the same comfort that Stan wanted to give him.

“I- I didn’t mean to,” Stan stammered to Kenny through the glass, “Honest. I really didn’t mean to.”

It was hard to say if Kenny knew what he was referring to, but to be honest, Stan barely knew himself. He could have been talking about many things.

Kenny had to work to sweeten Kyle into letting go of the chair, haphazardly speaking to Stan over his shoulder, “Stan, I hate hospitals just as much as the next guy, but you better sober the fuck up in there. Put up a good fuckin’ fight, got that? The Kylie-B’s countin’ on you, man. He’s fuckin’ latching onto you more than he is this dumbass chair.”

Stan didn’t fail to notice Kyle’s death-grip around the chair as he sobbed and trembled, Kenny working his tail off trying to gently coax him out of it.

“And, Stan, if you break his heart  _ again-”  _ Kenny started to threaten, but then he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. He shook his head defeatedly, “Jesus Christ, I don’t even know...”

Stan’s gut jerked inside of him, “Ken?”

“What?” he replied harshly.

Stan surrendered whatever was left of his values, his ideals, and his merits when he said: “...take good care of Kyle for me while I’m-… away. Okay?”

Kenny gave a ghost of a smile, the corner of his mouth perking up, “Thought you’d never ask.”

Stan kept his hands and face close to the window as he watched Kyle slowly but surely work his way into standing, Kenny with him every step of the way. Stan was fogging up the glass, but he didn’t notice, he just watched Kyle.

“Are you guys going to visit me?” Stan asked childishly, feeling like a lost little kid.

“Not me. I’m done with you, dude,” Kenny gave a weak smile, “We had a good run. Thanks for almost eighteen years of friendship. Really, thanks. We had some good times. But I’m done now, okay? This is my goodbye. I never wanna see you again. And I mean that.”

“Oh,” Stan’s breath caught in his throat, “Wha- What about Kyle?”

“Only if he wants to,” Kenny said, biting his lip to show that he was firm.

Then he lowered himself down in front of Kyle so they were at eye-level, gently, placidly, “Kyle, babe, we’re gonna go home now. Do you wanna say bye to Stan?”

When Kyle shook his head no, Stan didn’t feel hurt, because he knew better.   
While Kenny might have interpreted the gesture as a fearful plea to get away, Stan knew what the ‘no’ really meant. It didn’t mean Kyle was afraid of saying goodbye, it meant Kyle  _ wasn’t _ saying goodbye. Kenny was cutting off all ties with Stan, while Kyle was holding onto his faith for him, he wasn’t going to let Stan go.

Kenny raised himself to meet Stan’s gaze now, looking prideful, “Well, there you have it.”

Stan could only watch helplessly as the two of them started to leave, both of them limping. Stan was distraught, frozen in his place, unable to follow them, hug them, or kiss them goodbye. He only watched with forlorn stupor as they left, the guard locking the door behind them, sealing them away and out of Stan’s reach.

The thought occurred that if Stan had not been trapped in place, he probably would have stayed where he was anyway.

Stan didn’t need to follow them, he wanted to, but he didn’t need to. Stan had to stay here. He had to stay until they moved him to the mental hospital, where he had to stay for even longer, separated from the rest of the world.   
Ike and Kenny were moving on to the next chapter of their lives, meanwhile Kyle was-...

Well... Kyle was untouchable.

And Stan needed to accept that. He needed to get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again. Eternally <3
> 
> Side note... At times I feel like the summary doesn't well indicate what this story is /really/ about. Any suggestions for a new summary?
> 
> Please let me know how I did! <3 Stay safe out there, wash your hands, and drink plenty of water!


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